Flames
by Spiritslayer
Summary: The Aldmeri Dominion had designs on the College of Winterhold, and the knowledge contained within. First Ambassador Elenwen sends one of her best to aid in claiming the College for the Thalmor... but what happens when her favorite Operative defects? Can she change their mind... or, with a visitor from Alinor incoming, is she too late? Implied Elenwen/OC, may be more later.
1. Before and After

_Operative Runael,_

_I have received your report on Heimskr of Whiterun, and can assure you that corrective action will be taken. Another agent will be along soon to inquire as to why the Jarl of Whiterun permitted such blatant violation of the White-Gold Concordat, and depending on his response, there may be a new Jarl of Whiterun before long._

_I inform you of another agent because, as you may have surmised by now, you will not be inquiring. I have a different task for you now, seeing whereas you've proven yourself reliable in the past. In five days' time, you are to report to Ancano in the College of Winterhold and assist him however you are able. While I have faith in his ability to complete the task, his recent lack of any results is troubling; I am in hopes that sending you along will expedite his own mission._

_Do be careful in Winterhold, Operative. According to prior reports Ancano has sent, the winds are far colder than anything you've experienced thus far in Whiterun, or I've endured here at the Embassy. If the frigid winds are of no concern to you, then the even colder attitudes of the local Nords may be. Ancano is of a mind that the Jarl suspects the Dominion had a hand in the Great Collapse, and distrusts and despises all Altmer as such; while I respect his opinions, I do think Ancano is a touch... suspicious of the poor Jarl - the man's Hold did fall into the sea, after all, and he may simply be seeking someone to blame. Still, I urge you to exercise caution in Winterhold._

_I trust you've heard about events in Helgen by now, Operative. I am sorry to inform you that the news is true: while I departed Helgen prior to the attack, I was able to hear the unmistakable roars of what I can only presume to be the dragon the people of Skyrim are claiming it to be. While I personally do not believe dragons are appearing, we are still looking into the matter ourselves. Whether it's true or not, however, I strongly urge you to be careful on your way to Winterhold: if dragons are indeed appearing again, it could make your journey a very dangerous one; if they are not, then I suspect I do not need to remind you that Skyrim is filled with dangers all its own outside of dragons._

_As to your request, I am sorry to inform you that I must decline. I have my duties, Operative, as do you; I cannot forsake mine, and strongly discourage you from doing the same with yours. I do not decline your request without regret, as the very thought is tempting. I do hope to see you again sometime, Operative; I will confess the Embassy does feel rather lonely without you here. Once Ancano's task is complete, perhaps you shall return to the Embassy for a time?_

_Good luck, Operative, and please stay safe - if not for your sake, then for mine._

_Yours,_

_First Ambassador Elenwen_

_P.S. - Please do something about the courier who brought your report to me, and delivered this letter to you. He had some choice words for the Dominion on the whole, but said and did nothing we can officially punish him for. Do as you see fit, Operative._

* * *

A chill wind blew through the Thalmor Embassy, and made the Altmer standing guard within the gates shiver. He had felt many like it by now, but it still didn't make it any more bearable. He found himself longing for the much more comfortable warmth of Alinor again, where he could spend his time freely with his family.

He supposed he was partly to blame for his discomfort: his elven armor, while lined with furs specifically for the cold, was not the perfect attire for standing guard. He wondered idly if the robes the wizards of the Dominion wore were any more comfortable, considering they were cloth and not metal. He then wondered if there was really a difference in Skyrim, where the frigid temperatures seemed to seep through all manner of attire and chill those less acclimated to the bone.

His attention was claimed by a figure approaching the Embassy, and he frowned a little; the figure wore not the robes or armor of the Dominion, so surely they must be aiming to intrude... or to cause trouble? He wondered how well he would fight, cold as he was feeling, but also welcomed the opportunity to move and warm his body with strenuous movements. As the figure stepped closer, he took in their attire: a remarkably dull blue robe that made the guard wonder if it warded the cold. The figure had a hood of a similar color up, hiding their face from view.

This changed when the figure reached up and threw the hood back lightly. The Altmer guard inhaled sharply at the sight that greeted him: a rather beautiful Altmer, such as himself, was who was striding toward the gate. Her hair, a pale blonde, was pulled back; he presumed it was either a ponytail he couldn't see or a bun. As she drew nearer, he could almost swear her emerald-colored eyes sparkled in the light of the day, perhaps even glowed. He allowed himself the briefest of glances at her figure; while it was mostly hidden by the robe she wore, he presumed she was lovely to behold... and to hold.

The thought prompted him to remember his family back in Alinor, and he shook the distracting thoughts pertaining to the mysterious Altmer's beauty from his mind. Pretty or not, he still had a duty to keep her out... or at least learn her business with the Embassy. "Halt!" he commanded as strongly as he could; hours of no vocal use caused his voice to crack, and he cleared his throat before continuing. "You are trespassing upon Dominion grounds. State your business, or remove yourself from our domain."

The woman chuckled softly, the sound of her voice only adding to his appreciation of her beauty. "I am not trespassing." She reached into a small satchel at her waist and pulled out a letter. "I have something for the fair Madame Ambassador."

The guard blinked. "First Ambassador Elenwen?" He shook his head briefly. "Who are you, then, and what is the letter you-"

"Operative Runael," she interrupted. "I will admit, I don't recognize you. Did you arrive at the Embassy but recently?"

His jaw fell open. He'd heard of Runael, of course; one of the most efficient agents, or Operatives as Elenwen referred to them within Skyrim, that the Dominion was fortunate enough to have. It had been she who identified brazen defiance of the White-Gold Concordat in Whiterun, and in turn had played an indirect part in placing the Jarl of Whiterun under house arrest for permitting it. He recalled seeing a man being pulled off the ship when it docked in Alinor, shouting some nonsense or the other about Talos. It had been clear, then, why the Nord was there. The Altmer guard had departed not long after, and didn't know what became of the Nord... though he had his suspicions.

She cleared her throat, and brought his mind back to reality. "Ah, s-sorry, Operative!" he exclaimed. "I-I just... I've heard stories about you here, and it's an honor to meet-"

She laughed it off. "Please, just call me Runael. 'Operative' is just my title, after all." She extended the letter toward him. "In any event, I have a report for the fair Madame Ambassador."

'_Fair_'... he thought. He acknowledged Elenwen was pretty in her own right, but he couldn't deny that Runael possessed beauty greater still. "So, it's... true, then? What I've heard whispered about you and the Madame Ambassador?"

She quirked a brow at this. "One cannot always believe what one hears. What is it you've heard about us?"

He considered saying it aloud, but the thought... it embarrassed him to say such things and risk being scoffed at. The whispers suggested that Runael and Elenwen were remarkably close, akin to a couple... that in the past, Runael had been glimpsed leaving Elenwen's solar one evening, when the majority of the Embassy was fast asleep. Then there were the tales of how they spoke with one another in front of others: official, yet still somehow with traces of affection for the other. The very thoughts made the mer's face turn red.

She sighed softly. "Ah, of course. _Those_ rumors and whispers."

He glanced over his shoulder, as if afraid to be overheard. "Are they true?" he whispered. "I won't tell anyone, I promise."

She stared at him, looking quite amused. "That would be giving away the fun," she said with a smile. "Believe what you wish; she and I know the truth of the matter." She waved the letter lightly at him. "Could you see to it that she gets this?"

"I don't see why you can't deliver it yourself," he commented. "It's no secret that your presence in the Embassy is quite welcome for everyone."

She offered a shrug at this, and crossed her arms. "True as that may be, I have business elsewhere that sadly requires my attention. As much as I'd like to stay, I cannot."

"I see." He reached out past the gate and waited for Runael to hand him the letter. "I'll see to it that the Madame Ambassador gets your letter, then."

She nodded and placed it in his trembling hand. "Cold?" she asked. "You'll get used to it with time. I've found the best way to keep warm while on watch is to patrol, and not just stand in one place. Even if it's just from one end of the gate to the other, you'll find the movement does wonders." She chuckled lightly. "It also makes the time go by just a little faster, and means you'll be back inside before you know it."

He blinked at her advice, and smiled. "Thank you. I shall keep that in mind. I'm still not used to guard duty..."

She seemed to stare at him for a moment, as if searching for something. The scrutiny made him shift uncomfortably, and he was fairly certain his cheeks were turning red again. "You're a new recruit to the Dominion, then?" she finally asked.

"I... yes. How did you-"

"Guard duty's pretty common for most of us," she stated simply. "Even I, whose duties generally take her outside the Embassy, have stood watch around the Embassy as you are. You'll learn the little tricks to make it much easier on you as time passes, trust me." She smiled and glanced toward the Embassy itself. He couldn't help but notice a feeling of... regret?

"Surely your business can wait," he offered. "I can see the longing in your eyes; you want to step inside again." He leaned closer and grinned. "You want to see _her_ again."

She flashed him a quick wink and a smile. "Possibly, but again, that would be telling." She released the letter, leaving it in his hand, then stepped back. "Regrettably, I must be off. Recent events demand my attention, and I cannot partake in the comfortable pleasures I once did." She gave the Embassy one last look of longing and regret, then turned away from him. He noted that her hair was actually a mix of both his suspicions: it was pulled into a ponytail, but the tail was bunched in the back. He didn't have too long to look at it, though: the hood came back up and covered her head from the elements.

"'Recent events'?" he echoed.

"It's in the letter." She started to walk away. "To put it simply, the College of Winterhold has a new Arch-Mage, and she cannot stay at the Embassy - no matter how much she wishes to."

His eyes widened. _Runael is the Arch-Mage of the College?_ he thought to himself. He then realized that perhaps he was just jumping to conclusions... but the way she said it seemed to suggest that she was indeed what he suspected. _But... I thought_-

She waved a hand over her shoulder. "Take care of yourself," she said with a light tone. "Perhaps we'll meet again some day." Without another look over her shoulder, she strode away from the Embassy, leaving the Altmer guard looking rather dazed and confused. A wind threatened to pull the letter out of his hand, and reminded him of the... favor? He supposed that that's what Runael had asked of him. He withdrew his hand behind the gate again... and realized, belatedly, that he'd be unable to deliver the letter for a few hours yet.

He was the only guard currently watching the gate, after all.

* * *

Knocking on her door was not what the First Ambassador was expecting to hear. "Yes?" she said with a weary sigh, more than eager to welcome any sort of distraction from the papers, letters and forms that had piled on her once-tidy desk.

The aftermath of the Embassy being infiltrated under Elenwen's very nose had not gone over smoothly for her. Missives had come and gone to and from Alinor, as had letters demanding explanations, outraged cries for her to be removed from her position, and other such drama she did not wish to face. It had been five months since that day, but the Dominion kept treating it as though it had happened mere hours ago. _Of course they would_, she thought bitterly. _They're back in Alinor, a good month and a half's sail from Solitude._

"...Madame Ambassador?" came a voice from the other side of her door.

"Yes? What is it?" she responded, her patience worn thin.

"I was just saying that I had a letter for you," the voice replied. "From Operative Runael."

_Runael_. The name made Elenwen's eyes light up, and she attempted to tidy up her desk somewhat. "Come in, then. Is she with you?" she asked, hoping to see a very familiar and very friendly face for a change.

She felt her heart plummet, as well as her spirits, when the male guard walked into her solar alone, shaking his head. "No, Madame Ambassador. She informed me she wished to stay, but had duties elsewhere that demanded her attention."

Elenwen stared at him. "What 'duties elsewhere' could she possibly have? Surely she's not 'playing courier'," she said incredulously.

"I cannot say for certain, as she didn't say it outright..." The mer paused for a moment. "...But to me, she alluded that she may be the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold."

This made Elenwen blink several times. _Runael, Arch-Mage?_ "That's... absurd," she said slowly. "If it's true, then perhaps it's better than Ancano being Arch-Mage, but when I sent her to Winterhold, it was to help..." She frowned. _I haven't heard from Ancano in a few months, but I just presumed he was making too much headway with Runael there._

The guard handed her the letter. "I may have misunderstood her wording, Madame Ambassador, but she did say something about how the new Arch-Mage wishes to stay at the Embassy, and yet cannot. I just presumed that she meant-"

Elenwen shot him a fierce look. "You do not 'presume' such things and assume them to be fact," she said sharply.

"I didn't," he protested. "I told you, Madame Ambassador, that she seemed to allude to it!"

She thought for a moment, and rested her head in her hands. "...I'm sorry," she muttered. "I'm just... exhausted, what with everything that's happened here..." She lifted her head and reached out to take the letter. "I'm disappointed she chose not to stay, but I suppose such is the way things go." She nestled her finger beneath the familiar seal and gingerly lifted it from the paper, then unfolded the letter and began to read.

While her eyes lit up at first, and she appeared to be on the border of concerned and ecstatic, her expression slowly contorted to one of confusion, then of betrayal and fury. While she read, she rested her head in one hand, thrumming her fingers upon the table with the other; as she read, her free hand lifted into the air and began to channel a small, blazing spell within her palm. By the time she finished reading, she looked absolutely furious, and the fire in her hands was almost the size of a gourd.

"Madame Ambassador!" the guard seemed to snap, as if he'd been trying to get her attention for quite some time now. "You're going to set something ablaze at that rate!"

She blinked at his words, realizing what she'd created within her hand. She let the flames die down, then snuffed out the small embers that remained within her hand. Her expression of fury slowly faded, and she cleared her throat. All at once, she was the very image of calm - if outwardly. "I... apologize." While she tried to sound sincere, she couldn't bring herself to actually feel sorry.

The guard stared at her for a moment. "...If... I may, what's...?"

"Nothing." She forced as convincing a smile as she could. "It's nothing major, at any rate. I... thank you for bringing this to me." She returned to thrumming her fingers upon the desk. "Tell me, when was Runael here?"

"A few hours ago, Madame Ambassador," he replied. "I wasn't able to leave my post because I'd been at the gate, and..." His voice trailed. "I did wish to get this to you as soon as possible, though."

_So she's well beyond my reach now_, Elenwen thought bitterly. "I see. You may go now."

"Madame Ambassador, what's happened?" the guard asked.

"Nothing you need to concern yourself with." She reached into her desk and pulled out a small pouch filled with coin. "Here. For your trouble. Why don't you get yourself a drink and relax? You _are_ off-duty, correct?"

He eyed the pouch, then looked up at her. "I am, yes. I... suppose, if you insist, then..."

"Oh, I absolutely do insist." She gave him another smile. "You, at least, have perfomed your duties to the letter."

This was all the guard needed to hear, apparently, for he picked up the pouch, gave the letter a quick glance, then departed without another word. He also had the foresight to close the door behind him, for which Elenwen was quite grateful.

Her facade melted away the second the door clicked shut, and she was once again furious outwardly. Her gaze dropped to the paper once more, and her hands clenched into fists. She silently fumed to herself; now she had another problem to deal with. Now she had to send yet another letter to Alinor, this time not to explain herself, but rather to inform the Dominion of what had transpired.

Her furious expression slowly turned to one of pure and utter betrayal. She felt her shoulders shake, and could feel her eyes watering. She reached up to wipe her eyes briefly, and sighed wearily. "Why...?" she whispered. "Why, Runael...?"

She gave the letter another read, as if hoping to find something she overlooked, or as if to find that she'd been mistaken in her initial judgment. _The writing is undeniably hers, so it's certainly from Runael..._ Elenwen thought.

Before she knew it, Elenwen had read Runael's letter a dozen times, and could almost swear she knew the letter's contents by heart. As much as she wished to burn it, she knew better than to destroy what would become a key piece of evidence. Even despite that, she wanted to destroy it... she wanted to spare Runael from what would come of it.

Elenwen considered, then and there, just forgetting she ever received the letter, and pretending nothing had happened. _The Dominion doesn't need to know about this_, she thought to herself. _They're a month and a half away in Alinor. They_-

Her thoughts were interrupted by another knock on the door. _Who in blazes... at this hour...?_ she thought, glancing outside; the sun had set a few hours ago. "Enter," she said, collecting herself rather quickly. _I'm becoming far too good at it..._ she mused bitterly.

The door opened, and another guard stepped inside. "Madame Ambassador." She set a letter upon the already cluttered desk, with the seal facing upward. "More correspondence from Alinor."

_Wonderful._ "Thank you. If there's nothing else...?"

The guard shook her head. "No." She bowed respectfully to Elenwen before departing, closing the door behind her.

At this point, Elenwen desired a distraction in any form; even berating from the Dominion would be welcome. _Anything to forget the sting of..._ Her thoughts trailed as she broke the seal, opened the letter, and lazily scanned the lettering.

_First Ambassador Elenwen,_

_You are hereby ordered to prepare the Embassy of Skyrim for guests. I no longer trust your ability to maintain Dominion presence in Skyrim, and will arrive in Skyrim in two months' time. I shall stay until I can decide what to do with you._

_We are through waiting._

_Sincerely,_

_Vindicator Thellias_

Her eyes widened. _The Vindicators are..._ She'd heard about them in the past, but hadn't thought them a real sect within the Dominion. They were said to be among the Dominion's most elite representatives, and exceptionally good at solving problems, no matter the nature. _For a Vindicator to be coming here..._

She pushed the letter away, then glanced at Runael's. "I'm so sorry, Runael..." she whispered to herself. _I can no longer hide this, no matter how much I wish to. If I don't inform them myself, this Vindicator will find out on his own... and the situation will become far more severe._ It was with no small amount of guilt that she began to write another letter destined for Alinor, this one to inform the Dominion of what had transpired.

The letter that Runael had written sat at the corner of Elenwen's desk while she wrote, the candlelight illuminating the words written upon it.

_First Ambassador Elenwen,_

_First and foremost, I apologize for not replying to you sooner. Things had been nothing short of chaotic here at the College, and only now can I find the time to actually sit, think, and write._

_I was quite flattered by your last letter, and felt more than a little humbled by your request. It is with a heavy heart, though, and even heavier regret, that I must turn you down. The chaos at the College is simply too great, and my current role in the College mandates my attention until such a time that things are quiet again._

_The College of Winterhold has a new Arch-Mage. This has not come without quite a price, however, nor is the Arch-Mage the one you wished to usher into the position. The price the College paid was: one Arch-Mage, one Master Wizard, and two representatives of the Aldmeri Dominion... though I presume the College does not particularly mind the latter cost; public opinion of Ancano was rather poor._

_To make a long story short, we found an object of immense power within a ruin. As we tried to learn more about it, we learned from outside sources that this object was not only immensely powerful, but extremely dangerous as a result, and that we - that is, I - had to destroy it before it could be abused. Ancano had designs of his own for it, however, and abused it - killing the late Arch-Mage Savos Aren in the process. We are still uncertain as to what exactly happened, but we knew that Ancano's reckless misuse of the object endangered Winterhold - possibly Skyrim, and possibly even Tamriel. I was tasked with finding the one item that could and would save us all from Ancano's antics - I use 'antics' because there is no other term for it._

_Does the name Estormo sound familiar to you? Whether it does or not, I will tell you this: Estormo approached me shortly after I located the aforementioned item, and attempted to kill me. He was there on Ancano's orders, and was part of the Dominion besides. When faced with life or death, I obviously chose life - at the expense of Estormo's. When I returned to the College, I was able to confront Ancano directly and pleaded with him to stop his nonsense before he tore everything apart. He then tried to kill me himself - and again, I chose life over death, again at the expense of another member of the Dominion._

_The dangerous object in question has since been nullified, and I have been named the new Arch-Mage for my instrumental role in subduing the chaos._

_I realize this means that your wish to have a member of the Aldmeri Dominion ascend to the position of Arch-Mage of the College has been fulfilled. I know you tasked me with helping Ancano ascend that position, but he had other things in mind. I also know that you now expect me to hand the College of Winterhold, and all the knowledge contained within, to the Aldmeri Dominion, as you had instructed Ancano to do once he was the new Arch-Mage._

_I am sorry to inform you that I do not plan to follow through with your wishes, Madame Ambassador._

_I have seen a side of the College I never would have seen prior to joining them. Within these walls rests more than knowledge: within these walls is a desire to learn more about magic and acquire deeper mastery of it. I have never seen such dedication to magic anywhere else, not even Alinor. Although I tried not to get too attached to everyone else at the College, I gradually did. They became my friends and my confidants - or at least, a couple became the latter._

_I have also seen that handing the College of Winterhold over to the Dominion would, without a doubt, undo the dedication my peers demonstrate within these walls. I cannot and will not deny my peers and friends the right to study magic simply because the Aldmeri Dominion wants the knowledge contained within. While I realize that Ancano and Estormo do not define the Aldmeri Dominion, I also realize that their actions could possibly reflect on what the Dominion would do with the College in its grasp._

_I cannot and will not allow such upon Tamriel. As long as I am Arch-Mage of the College, I refuse the Dominion permission to set foot within the College - and the College itself will comply. I have already informed my peers that I was formerly of the Dominion, and of the reason why I was initially at the College; I have also promised them that I will never follow through._

_I am sorry, Elenwen, but this is how it must be. Just as Tamriel was not ready for the object I mentioned, the Aldmeri Dominion is not ready for the College of Winterhold. I do not trust anyone within the Dominion - unfortunately including you - to treat the College as it ought to be; I'd sooner expect to see the Dominion abuse the College for their own ends. As long as this is the case, I will no longer have anything to do with the Thalmor. By extension, I can no longer have anything to do with my former colleagues at the Embassy... or with you._

_This is likely the last time you and I will ever be in touch with each other, so I wanted to let you know that you meant everything to me. I did not make the decision to defect from the Thalmor lightly, or on a whim; this took much thought on my end. In the end, I believe my decision is what's best for the College and for the Dominion. If that means sacrificing everything I had with you, then so be it. Such is a price I must pay for my peers and friends within the College. Such is the price I am willing to pay. I know it will be worth it in the long run._

_Formerly yours,_

_Runael_

_Ex-Operative of the Thalmor_

_Current Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold in Skyrim_

* * *

_**A.N. -** So yes. A belated 'Merry Christmas' and a mildly belated 'Happy New Year' to people._

_I've always wanted to do an Elder Scrolls fic, and contemplated an Oblivion one a few years back. Then Skyrim came out. It's taken me a little while to think of a story idea I wholeheartedly approved of, and one that doesn't make my head spin trying to put words unto paper (or fingers to keyboard) when trying to make it a reality._

_I think it goes without saying, but the Elder Scrolls series is not mine. The vast majority of content in this fanfiction is property of Bethesda, with exceptions to the characters Runael and Thellias, whom I created._

_Now..._

_I cannot be the only one who's ever felt even slightly sorry for Elenwen, especially after you infiltrate the Thalmor Embassy during the game... and during one of the parties you were given an invitation to, no less. To me, it's always seemed as though there would be fierce backlash for allowing such infiltration to occur, and failing to apprehend the infiltrator; who would suffer the bulk of it? Elenwen, of course._

_For those who are even mildly confused as to the 'timeline' of this chapter, I will clarify: the first letter, to Runael, was sent before the quest First Lessons, in which you get into the College. Everything after that takes place a little while after you become the Arch-Mage after defeating Ancano._

_Review if it pleases you. Feedback is always welcome._

_-Spiritslayer_


	2. Kindling

_Olfrid Battle-Born,_

_I know there is little love between our clans any longer because of the war. I realize the words of this letter may never reach your eyes, instead being put to flame. In the event that you do read this, however, I wish to ask something of you._

_It has been two months since Heimskr disappeared from Whiterun without a trace. I know you bear no fondness of the man, especially not the message he attempted to spread during the day; I firmly believe that his disappearance is no accident, though, and suspect that both of our clans, perhaps even the entirety of Whiterun, has cause to worry._

_I have no facts as of yet, but I suspect the Thalmor spirited Heimskr away; it would explain why he suddenly 'departed' Whiterun without a word to anyone else, as well as why he opted to suddenly stop spreading his message. I base my assumption of this entirely off the fact that not even a week after Heimskr disappeared, a high elf strolled into Whiterun and made her way to Dragonsreach; not long after that, Jarl Balgruuf was placed under house arrest for reasons we, the citizenry, do not yet know._

_I know you've sided with the Empire, while we've sided with the Stormcloaks. I also know that before the war, our clans were close as kin... and that we both held a deep-seated hatred of the Thalmor for their banning the worship of Talos with the White-Gold Concordat. I do not believe for a second that, just because you've sided with the Empire, you have ceased believing Talos to be a god; if you have, then you are far lesser the man than I have ever given you credit for, be it past or present._

_The Thalmor must be made to pay for making such a bold move against Whiterun. Heimskr's disappearance and the Jarl's house arrest cannot be mere coincidence; even you must realize this. Even now, that high elf remains in Dragonsreach, as if she owns the palace now. I suspect that if we allow her to remain any longer, the Thalmor will soon take Whiterun for themselves. Is that what you wish for? Any part of Skyrim, being ruled by the elves?_

_If not, I strongly urge you to visit the Grey-Mane home, this letter in hand, when night has fallen. We, at least, have begun planning, but our plan cannot realistically succeed without your family backing us. The rest of my family is stubborn to admit it, but I realize the time has come for us to put our differences aside to address a common enemy. Once she's been taken care of, we can go back to our petty squabbles in the streets, stemming from the war._

_Do not forget who you are, Olfrid Battle-Born. Do not forget who this land belongs to._

_-E. Grey-Mane_

* * *

Runael wrinkled her nose lightly as she walked into Whiterun. The acrid smoke of the blacksmith's forge blew past her face, filling her nostrils with the stench. She never did care for the smell of heated metal, burning coals, and whatever else came from the smithy.

She didn't particularly care for the glare she could sense coming her way from the guardsman near the city gates, either; she couldn't see his face because of the rather bizarre helmet all guards wore, but she'd come to recognize the telltale signs. Crossed arms loosening just a little, as if to have one's weapon arm ready at a moment's notice... the slight clenching of hands into small, nearly loose fists, as if harboring hatred... the sudden tension of their arms and legs, as if preparing to lunge...

She'd seen it often enough in Winterhold to recognize it anywhere else. _Nords are all alike_, she thought to herself. _Even after five months, they remain just as stubborn and immovable in their opinions as ever before..._

She was quite eager to move away from the forge and guard both, and strode through the city, intent on reaching the Bannered Mare.

It had been five months since she'd last visited the city; she'd been called away from Whiterun to Winterhold on Thalmor business, business that had otherwise kept her too busy to return. _Business that wasn't entirely pleasant_, she thought. She'd heard the rumors that Heimskr, the man who was the focus of her report to Elenwen five months ago, had vanished into thin air; she'd also heard the Jarl had been placed under house arrest. She had also heard the rumor that there was another representative of the Thalmor still within the walls of Whiterun and Dragonsreach, and it was she who more or less had the final say on the official dealings in Whiterun.

As she passed by a high elf clad in elven armor, she suspected there was more truth to it than she'd expected. The mer cast a glance at Runael, peered at her, then looked away as if she were no one. She wasn't surprised at his reaction; she had departed the Embassy but days ago, and news her of defection had most likely not spread just yet. It would eventually arrive, however. She was a little surprised, though, to find more mer just like him patrolling the city. _Looks like the agent in Dragonsreach requested Thalmor troops in Whiterun. The presence here is far stronger than even _I_ would like. If news arrives while I'm still here, there's no doubt I'll be captured, or worse..._

She wasn't planning on staying long anyway; she just had to collect a few things she'd left at the Mare, and then have a friendly chat with the Thalmor agent in Dragonsreach. With some luck, Runael would be out of Whiterun before long, and news from the Embassy wouldn't reach the city until she was at least a few hours away from the city.

As she made her way to the Mare, she noted familiar faces. _There's Ysolda, studying up on mercantile pursuits... there's Nazeem, just waiting to have his head removed from his shoulders... there's Olfrid, enjoying a chat with Fralia..._

She blinked and stopped suddenly in her tracks. It was the third bit that perhaps threw her off-guard the most... five months ago, the Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes were at each other's throats nonstop. Runael had even overheard an argument one afternoon between Olfrid, Idolaf and Fralia about a missing Grey-Mane son, presumed dead by the Battle-Borns. _So why are they getting along so well?_ she thought. _Did they mend fences in the past five months? The war's still raging..._

She watched as Fralia handed Olfrid a pendant, then watched as Olfrid walked away - without any sort of reprimand for stealing or anything of the sort. _He didn't pay for it... or did he already...?_ she wondered. She had, after all, just arrived in Whiterun again; perhaps Olfrid had commissioned Eorlund for the pendant?

She put it from her mind; if they were getting along again, she wasn't going to butt in. She supposed it would be better for Whiterun on the whole if the two clans were friendly again. _I have things to do, anyway._

* * *

Only when he was in the safety of his clan's home did Olfrid lift the pendant Fralia Grey-Mane had given him at the marketplace and begin to pry it open. In truth, it was a locket the two families had taken to using to communicate with one another ever since the Thalmor stationed troops within the city's walls.

His eyes flicked to the letter he'd received from Eorlund not more than an hour after the first of the Thalmor soldiers had filed in through the city gates, four months ago.

_Olfrid,_

_I see now that you are not the man I once considered you to be. Thalmor now crawl through the streets of the city as if they own Whiterun, and all because you were too stubborn to see past our differences. This is no longer about the war, Battle-Born; my hatred for you now stems from the fact that you bastards stood idly by while the elves strolled into Whiterun unopposed. Fralia showed more bravery than you; I don't know that I'll ever see her again for her defiance of the Thalmor presence._

_When you die, I hope Sovngarde rejects you; you are not a Nord, and are not deserving of the place of honor we true Nords visit when we die._

_-E. Grey-Mane._

It wasn't that he hadn't wanted to oppose the Thalmor, it had been that he simply thought Eorlund was trying to secretly pull the Battle-Borns to Ulfric's side. He had been just as appalled and outraged when the elves arrived, and he had felt intense pity for Fralia when she'd been kicked to the ground, then dragged away... all for simply yelling at the Thalmor.

It had taken much diplomacy on Olfrid's part to convince Eorlund that he was just as opposed to the presence of the Thalmor in Whiterun as the Grey-Manes were. It had taken even more diplomacy to gain the trust of the rest of the Grey-Manes, and more still to bring complete trust between all members of both families. _It took time, too_, he thought, finally prying the locket open. _Two months to mend fences. All because I was too blind to realize what Eorlund realized._

It had taken much personal risk for Olfrid to pull a few strings and, in so doing, free Fralia from the custody of the Thalmor; it had been this very act, though, that had solidified the friendship between Olfrid and Eorlund, which had been very rocky until then. With the effective rescue, Eorlund had no reservations communicating with Olfrid.

Just as he'd done with small, tightly folded letter enclosed in the locket, which Olfrid was carefully removing. He unfolded the letter, then read Eorlund's writing for the latest update.

_Olfrid,_

_Fralia informed me that the locket we've been using was nearly confiscated from Jon by the Thalmor the other night. I'd rather not arouse suspicion from the elves through such indirect contact; wouldn't want them to think we're plotting something._

_Come by the house at sunset. We'll talk face to face again, for a change._

_-Eorlund_

The patron of the Battle-Born clan frowned a little and scratched his beard lightly. _It would seem we'll need a new method of contact, then... just to be safe._ He closed the locket and tossed the short letter into the fire. To date, he had burned every single letter Eorlund had sent him, barring the one that expressed Eorlund's frustration with Olfrid.

"The Grey-Manes provided more kindling, eh?" he heard Idolaf comment. "What did it say before you set it to the flame?"

"Nothing of any real importance," he said dismissively. "Eorlund just wants me to visit them later in the day."

Idolaf watched the paper curl as the flames burned it. "...Why are we doing this?" he finally asked, his voice a low murmur.

"Because the Thalmor are in Whiterun, boy," Olfrid replied just as quietly. "At this point, it doesn't matter that we support the Empire, and they support the Stormcloaks; there's a greater problem at hand. United we stand, divided we fall... or some such like that."

"The Empire might not appreciate us defying the Thalmor, though," Idolaf muttered. "We may just be inviting greater problems to Whiterun with all of this. _Both_ clans could die if the Thalmor decide to retaliate."

"And that's why we're being so meticulous and careful," Olfrid reassured him. "That's why we haven't just stormed Dragonsreach already and killed that Thalmor bitch. If we're going to liberate Whiterun from the Thalmor, we have to do it carefully and without incriminating either of our families."

Idolaf shook his head, as if he still disapproved of the risks involved.

"Or are you meaning to tell me you prefer Whiterun as it is: effectively under Thalmor control, our day-to-day lives more or less governed by them?" Olfrid pressed.

Idolaf glared at Olfrid. "Only an elf would approve of what Whiterun's become," he snarled. "I just don't think what we're doing is the best way to-"

"Do you have a better plan?" Olfrid interrupted. When Idolaf didn't answer, Olfrid shook his head. "I didn't think so. Listen, boy: what we're doing _is_ risky, and yes, we _could_ all face death for plotting this. That also means that what we're doing is too damn important to leave be. No one wants the Thalmor here, excluding that bitch in Dragonsreach."

"I just..."

Olfrid gave Idolaf's shoulder a pat. "As it stands, Whiterun is neutral in the war, boy. If we react against the Thalmor, they cannot pin it on one side or the other. If Whiterun sides with the Empire, then the Empire will follow up with a reprimand for our uprising; if, for some ungodly reason, we side with the Stormcloaks, they'll simply assume we were leaning toward the Stormcloaks anyhow."

"We'll have Thalmor eyes on us no matter what," Idolaf grumbled.

"Would you rather those eyes have legs attached to them, walking the streets?"

Silence was Olfrid's answer, but it was all he needed.

* * *

_Runael,_

_You are, without a doubt, the most frustrating person to get in contact with. As of writing this letter, I have just recently learned you were staying at the Bannered Mare three months ago, in this very room. I can understand why; the bed is comfortable, the room itself is remarkably warm, considering the climate outside, and the people are easy on the eyes besides._

_Enough of my fancies, however - I'll recount my evening with the lovely Saadia another time. I've heard you're at the College of Winterhold now. When, where and from whom? That, my fair friend, is telling; even I have my secrets. I will say this: I have no intention of following you to the College. Far too cold for my preferences. Much of Skyrim is cold, but the brief time I spent in Winterhold months ago is a time I'm not eager to replicate._

_You remember that business proposition you agreed to six months ago, at the Winking Skeever? Well, I have news about that. Depending on your mood, the news could be good, or it could be bad; it also depends on where your allegiance lies, I suppose, once you hear it. Yes, I've heard the murmurs: word is you and a certain Thalmor at the College aren't exactly seeing eye-to-eye any longer? Again, my sources must remain secret, by they are nothing if not reliable._

_And finally, before I launch into a long-winded praise of your beauty, elegance, and that cold shoulder I find utterly endearing and adorable, I will ask that you provide me a straight answer in regards to my proposal. I am a patient man, Runael, but even I have my limits. Even a 'no' is preferable to sustained silence, or evasion of the question; it's also not the response I'd like to hear, but we'll see._

_One last thing. It may go without saying, considering this letter is amidst your things... but I took all the coin you left behind and put it to good use... well, I should say 'better use'; it was not doing much other than sitting in the pouch and collecting dust. You still owe me a bit of money anyway, so that helped cover part of it._

_-E_

Runael folded the letter and tucked it into the small pouch at her waist with a sigh. _At least he left everything else_, she thought to herself with a slight grin.

Laying upon the bed were the items she'd left behind: a robe that practically thrummed with power, an elven dagger, three pouches filled with fire, frost and void salts, a dozen lockpicks, a golden ring with a diamond set into it, and an empty knapsack. There was another pouch she hadn't left behind, but she suspected that 'E' had left it behind: a quick look and an even quicker sniff told her the pouch was filled with moon sugar. _Typical Khajiit_, she thought to herself.

The robe, she folded neatly and placed within the knapsack; the four pouches of fire, frost and void salts, as well as the pouch of moon sugar, followed. She tucked the lockpicks into the pouch at her waist, slipping one up her right sleeve for easy access. She took the dagger and put it at her waist, figuring it would make for a decent weapon in trying times.

_That leaves the ring_, she thought, eyeing the piece of jewelry. She was loath to leave it behind, considering the expense... but taking it with her would suggest she was taking someone's offer very seriously. She turned the ring over in her fingers, her gaze unfocused. _At the time, I was still devoted to Elenwen... can I say the same any longer?_

Runael realized that the answer didn't come so easily. She could neither claim 'yes' or 'no', for she didn't know. Her gaze focused upon the diamond, and after a moment, she tucked the ring into her side pouch. _No sense leaving it behind. It was bought for me, it should stay with me, even if I don't have any intention of answering._

With her things collected, Runael picked up the knapsack, and proceeded downstairs.

"Finished?" The voice accompanied the Nord behind the counter, with brown hair pulled back into a small tail, and piercing eyes focused in something resembling a glare in Runael's direction.

"I am. You needn't worry, Hulda; I'll be bothering you no longer. Thank you for... 'holding' my things for me."

"Aye." Hulda's response was curt, and almost sounded as if she regretted holding on to the elf's belongings. "If you've no other business, then kindly remove yourself."

"Such a pleasant attitude," Runael remarked. "Is that the new standard for attracting customers?"

"Shut it," Hulda growled. "You are no customer of mine, not any longer. You have your things, now _leave_."

"Gladly. I hope the rest of your evening is just as pleasant as this little exchange has been," the elf replied. "It seems to do wonders for your establishment; do keep up the attitude, that's a key selling point."

Hulda smacked her hand on the counter. "Out. _Now_. Before I _throw_ you out myself."

Runael needed no further prompting, and departed the inn before Hulda could step out from behind the counter.

She wasn't surprised anymore. She imagined the Thalmor presence in Whiterun had grated on everyone's nerves, and their intolerance of elves was not simply rekindled; it was fully ignited and a powerful blaze. Even as she'd entered, as a familiar face to the people there, she was still treated coldly. _Such a shame they can't see past the stereotypes_, she mused to herself as she walked up the steps leading to the Gildergreen.

She passed the shattered statue of Talos, presumably destroyed by the Thalmor soldiers after they arrived, and glanced at it. At the time of her report, she'd been convinced it was the right thing to do... but after spending time at the College, learning more about dedication and compassion for things one loves, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for the Nords who still worship Talos.

This pity faded as she stepped into Dragonsreach, passing Olfrid on the way. Her mind was elsewhere, chiefly with the four Thalmor guards standing just inside the entrance to the palace. One drew his sword and stared Runael down. "What business have you with the Regent of Whiterun?" he asked in a commanding voice.

"I have a message to deliver to her, and to her only," Runael said simply. "Nothing incriminating or sinister, I assure you."

The four Thalmor glanced amidst themselves, casting a glance at Runael on occasion. One guard's gaze lingered a moment longer than the others. "Runael?" came the question from said guard, eyes widening lightly in recognition, a smile appearing at her lips.

Runael nodded. "I am, yes. I'm sorry, do I...?" Recognition dawned on her, too, and she smiled as well. "Adalla," she murmured. "It's been months. You've left the Embassy, too?"

The other three looked at the one named Adalla, who nodded. "Well, I was stationed here instead. Months ago, shortly after you left."

"Shortly after the heretic was removed," the first guard said, as if to emphasize something Runael didn't know about. "To think, such a large statue of their false god in the central plaza..."

Adalla shot the first guard a look. "You need to speak with the Regent, Runael?" she asked, slowly returning her gaze to the visitor and friendly face.

"Mm. I'm presuming I won't get to speak with her alone, though."

Adalla shook her head. "I'm afraid not. More than one Nord has tried to slip into Dragonsreach and free the former Jarl from his house arrest. We can't be too careful anymore." She gave Runael a smile. "I'll accompany you to her, then escort you back here once your business is through."

She nodded at the offer. "Then lead on." She gave the other three a respectful nod of her head, then followed Adalla up the steps to the throne, then to the stairs beyond that, leading to the Great Porch.

"I haven't seen you in ages," Adalla finally commented. "How goes things with the College? I was sad to hear you weren't coming right back to the Embassy after you finished up with..."

"I wanted to return as well, believe me, but I've never been good at denying Elenwen," Runael said with humor in her voice.

This made Adalla chuckle lightly. "No, I suppose not. She was aglow to receive your report and the letter you included, by the way. I think Elenwen's only truly happy whenever she hears from you." She looked over her shoulder at Runael. "I think you mean a lot to her."

Runael thought back to her previous visit to the Embassy, and silently nodded.

"I guess you'll be able to see her face light up again when you return to the Embassy," Adalla continued. "You're stopping in here on the way there, right?"

"Actually, I've already been. I had business elsewhere, though, and only stopped in here to gather a few things from the Mare..." She patted her knapsack. "...And to speak with this Regent."

"'This Regent' will thank you for showing a little more respect for the title," came a third voice. The woman to whom the voice belonged had rather pale skin, golden eyes that seemed to glow, and dark brown hair that hung loosely about her collar. "Tell me, guard, whom you have brought before- ah." She had been leaning upon the table with the map of Skyrim upon it - the war-map, Runael realized, noting the red and blue flags dotting it - but straightened up as Adalla and Runael had approached.

"This is Runael," Adalla said. "Runael, this is-"

"We know one another, you fool - or have you forgotten Runael and I once dwelled within the same Embassy?" the Regent interrupted. Her gaze shifted to Runael. "And why, pray tell, would you even need to visit Dragonsreach? If you come bearing a message from the Embassy, kindly tell me and then leave; if not, be even quicker with your words and faster still with your departure. I'm not of a mood to entertain guests."

_I can tell_, Runael thought to herself. "My message isn't from the Embassy, your Grace, but it is still important."

"I'll be the judge of that," the Regent said with a condescending sniff. "Quickly, then."

* * *

It had been mere days since she'd received the news of Runael's defection. It still stung Elenwen, though, and she still hoped she was somehow mistaken.

She had written the message for Alinor, read it several times to make sure it sounded as 'subtly disappointing' as she could make it... and yet, sealed as it was and ready for delivery, she couldn't bring herself to actually send it off.

_I don't want to do this to Runael_, she thought. _I know duty demands I do, but she was able to shirk hers so easily... Runael, who carried out her orders to the letter in the past..._

Her fingers thrummed on her desk for what felt like the millionth time since she'd first read Runael's letter. Her eyes flicked to the letter in question, the edge of which was contained within her letter for Alinor. For the thousandth time, she considered burning the letter and hiding the problem... acting surprised when she found out Runael wasn't following through with her orders.

Perhaps the reason she hadn't sent it yet was because Alinor was sending someone to, essentially, look after Elenwen and clean up her mess for her. _Since he'll be coming, there's no point sending a letter to Alinor. He'll probably just read it himself, and decide on a course of action from there._

The thought of a Vindicator's judgment concerned Elenwen; what he may decide for Runael all but terrified the First Ambassador. _She is... no, _was_ one of my best. It was wrong of me to develop anything for her, but one simply cannot observe such efficiency and fail to admire them... can I possibly make such a convincing case for Thellias that he'll spare her too harsh a punishment...?_

Her fingers stopped thrumming, and she again thought about what she considered to be the optimal situation for everyone involved, chiefly herself and Runael. _I know how she can get... Runael is quite stubborn when she wants to be. Worse than a Nord_, she thought with a bitter smile. _Still, I hope this works in my favor..._

She had written another letter after she wrote the one for Alinor. This one wasn't addressed to anyone in particular, not yet, but it was reserved for precisely the very task she was considering. _Who to send...?_ she thought, fingers thrumming the desk again. _I would prefer Adalla, whom I know to be Runael's friend, but she's in Whiterun... every moment counts right now. If I can get this done before Thellias arrives, it's one less headache for me, and for him. I don't know that anyone else in the Embassy has the charisma Adalla has, though..._

She unfolded the letter in question, scanning the words briefly. Her gaze shifted to the top of the paper, and she slowly picked up a quill, dipped it into the nearby inkwell, and began to write the name she'd decided on.

_I want a guarantee this will work. Speed means nothing if I can't get it done,_ she thought, writing in 'Adalla' at the top, and thus marking the task as the other elf's new mission. She began to write more at the bottom of the letter, now that she'd made up her mind on who to choose. _I'll send this to Whiterun tomorrow, and leave Runael's fate in Adalla's hands._ She set the quill down with a shaky hand, took a deep, steadying breath, then read the contents of the letter once more.

_At best, Adalla will receive her new orders one month and three weeks before Thellias arrives..._ was all she could think of.

* * *

_Adalla,_

_I have a task of utmost importance and secrecy for you._

_Operative Runael has defected from the Aldmeri Dominion. She has become the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, but refuses to turn it over to the Dominion. She is intent on defying the orders I gave both her and Ancano to the very last._

_I am hoping against hope that it is not too late. I want you to travel to the College of Winterhold and convince Operative Runael to rescind her decision before it becomes too late to salvage the situation. Further, I am placing all of my hope and faith in you. Do not make me regret my decision. Best of luck._

_First Ambassador Elenwen_

_P.S. - If the Regent of Whiterun refuses to let you depart Whiterun, remind her that it is by my word that her husband is being spared execution._

* * *

_**A.N.** - And thus, Chapter Two comes to a close._

_Not a whole lot I want to say about the story at this point, at least nothing that won't give away parts of the story's future events._

_Kindly leave a review and let me know what you think!_

_-Spiritslayer_


	3. Sparks

_Arch-Mage Runael,_

_My lord has asked for your presence in the Palace of the Kings, located in Windhelm. He has recently learned that you were formerly with the Thalmor, and wishes to know why you are no longer with them. He also wishes to know why the Thalmor were so interested in the College of Winterhold to begin with. He also asked me to inform you, word for word, 'this is not a request'._

_Humbly,_

_-Jorleif_

_Steward to Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm_

* * *

A storm raged out at sea, rocking the unfortunate vessel caught within. Waves crashed upon the sides of the ship, water flooding over the deck. More than one man or mer lost his footing, remaining on board solely by their grip upon ropes. Shouts filled the air as they struggled to maintain some sort of control of the vessel, and to stay on course.

The sound of rain hitting the deck was nothing more than a sleep-inducing thrum to those below deck, and indeed, the vast majority of the crew below deck was asleep. A few crew members were still awake, seeing to their duties.

Then there were the mer they were taking across the treacherous sea.

There were seven additional mer total, most of them wearing not the attire of a seafarer, but rather the armor of the Aldmeri Dominion. Glimmering elven armor that looked as if it had never seen battle, the finest robes that looked as if they were brand new and had never been worn before, and weapons that bore no marks of conflict whatsoever upon their edges or sides... were it not for the leader of the group, the sailors wouldn't have believed these mer were members of the Dominion that had faced combat before.

The leader was not clad in the armor of the Dominion, but rather in a suit of full ebony, each piece enchanted with potent magics by the most powerful enchanters back in Alinor. His sword, a single-handed ebony blade, was at his side. His helm, also ebony, was resting upon the desk within his chamber below deck.

One elbow rested upon the desk itself, his head propped up by the airborne hand. His other hand held a letter he'd been given before he departed Alinor by his superiors. His hair spoke of his age: for all intents and purposes, his white hair could easily be mistaken for grey, considering the multiple locks of grey hair he possessed; his face bore several wrinkles that also indicated his age. His vivid golden eyes seemed to sparkle with hidden youth, suggesting an energy unusual for one as old as he.

He set the letter down and let out a long, weary sigh. _And to think, just a month ago, I was considering retirement,_ he mused to himself.

Vindicator Thellias had been at sea for three weeks now. He was roughly three weeks away from Solitude, and from landfall in Skyrim.

He had mixed thoughts on his earlier-than-intended start. On the one hand, he was quite looking forward to catching the floundering Elenwen off-guard by arriving two weeks earlier than he'd informed her... but on the other, he was not particularly looking forward to the frigid climate that was Skyrim.

A knock at his door turned his attention to it, and he looked over his shoulder at the door. "Speak," he commanded, his voice sharp and authoritative.

"Sir, there's been an... incident." The voice belonged to one of the six mer under Thellias' authority. "The ship's captain is trying to... cause trouble, to put it lightly."

"Emphasize." He didn't want to find out he was going to be cleaning up a mess the ship's captain himself should be trying to clean up instead.

"Saarie's being harassed."

Thellias felt his eye twitch.

"I did all I could to suppress the captain, sir, but... well, I wouldn't be bothering you if he remained such."

The elder mer pushed his chair away from the desk slowly, the sound of wood dragging across wood meeting his ears as he did. When he rose, he did so with a small, almost imperceptible groan. He picked up his ebony helm - more so out of habit than necessity - and tucked it under his left arm. "No one harasses my second and gets away with it," he growled. In a matter of a few strides, he was at the door and opening it. "Lead the way. I have some choice words for the so-called 'honorable' captain."

The other mer nodded, then led his superior to the troublesome captain's quarters. "Saarie's back in her quarters already," he explained upon seeing the Vindicator's eye twitch again. "I dragged the captain back here, though."

"And you left him unguarded? His door locks from within, no?"

"I think I made my point well enough to convince him," the mer said, opening the door and pushing it inward firmly.

The sound of the wooden door slamming against the wall, coupled with the sound of ebony boots stepping purposefully over the wooden floor, was more than enough to elicit a surprised yelp from within the quarters. The captain came into view, holding a small dagger as if to attack someone, which made Thellias laugh inwardly.

"You're a sorry sight. Hardly professional," the elder mer commented.

Indeed, the ship's captain looked disheveled. His light brown hair was a mess, with tufts sticking out here and there; it even looked tangled in some places near the back. He wore no top, though thankfully his leggings remained in place. The man, a Redguard whose ship had been hired a few times in the past, lowered the dagger slowly. "Oh, it's just you," he grumbled.

"Yes, it's just me." Thellias stepped forward once more. "Were you perhaps expecting someone else? Especially after word of your treatment toward Saarie reached my ears?"

"All I asked her was if she wanted to eat with me once we got out of this storm," the captain protested.

"How many times have you asked her?" The elder mer affixed the Redguard captain with a hard stare.

"Just once-"

Thellias held up his free hand to silence the captain, then strode toward the captain's desk. Both hands gripped his ebony helm, and he slammed it upon the desk. The sound made the captain flinch, and when the Redguard saw a flash of anger in the elder mer's eyes, he shrank back. "How many times have you asked her?" Thellias asked once more, sounding more insistent. "And how many times has she turned you down?"

The captain's mouth opened and closed wordlessly for several moments, as if weighing the options of telling another lie.

"Since we've been out at sea, she has told me you have asked her every... other... day. She is tired of telling you 'no', and wishes you would take a hint." Thellias' tone was calm, but that said nothing of the irritation in his eyes. "She's also told me you've been trying... other things with her."

The captain remained silent.

"We're out in a storm, captain," the Vindicator continued on. "This is _your_ ship. You should be more involved in the well-being of your crew and vessel right this moment. You should _not_ be trying to make the guests upon your vessel uncomfortable or irritated with you... especially not both."

"I have faith in my crew," the Redguard replied, finally finding his voice again. "I don't feel as though I'm absolutely necessary for getting us through this storm."

"No?" Thellias tapped his chin lightly. "Tell me, how far off course are we right now because of the storm? Do you even _know_ if we're off course? How many of your men remain onboard, and how many have been swept overboard by the raging waves? Do you know how much longer we'll be stuck in this storm? Did you even know we were sailing into a storm?"

The captain's face burned with embarassment at being questioned as he was, and he looked ashamed of himself for not having answers to give.

"It's no wonder you humans were fool enough to grant divine status to another human," Thellias growled. "You all do whatever you please, whenever you please... and damn whomever suffers because of your decisions. You cannot and will not think of where you _ought_ to be in times of need."

"Talos has nothing to do with-"

The Vindicator took a step toward the captain. "No, but the example does. You humans are vain and irresponsible. It's a miracle your kind have even managed to hold an Empire intact as long as you have. I will confess, Tiber Septim did an amazing job of that task, but an amazing Emperor does not equate to a Divine. There are those among you who seem to think so, though, as evidenced by the name 'Talos' being heralded as a Divine. As I said... vain."

"And who was our worship of Talos hurting?" the captain snapped. "No one! Who cares who we choose to worship? Why is it such a terrible thing to worship the only man who ascended to godhood? You want to talk about the flaws of a race? I have some choice words for-" He realized what he'd said so far, and what he was about to say, and cut himself off abruptly.

"No, please..." Thellias gave a smile that made the Redguard's skin crawl. "Continue. I insist. I'm curious as to which race you're going to critique, and in what manner. This little visit has proven most... engaging, and I'm loath to leave you be now..."

"I-it's nothing," the captain stammered. "I-I have a ship to see to, and a crew. Excuse me." He brushed past Thellias brusquely, clearly eager to put distance between himself and the Thalmor Vindicator.

Thellias let him go, and marveled at how the Redguard had no issues leaving the elder mer alone in the captain's quarters... especially after the suspicions Thellias now had about the 'good' captain. He closed the door and locked it, then turned to regard the chamber. _Now... if I were a worshipper of Talos... where would I hide my amulet, or shrine, or both...?_ With that in mind, Vindicator Thellias began to search the captain's quarters.

* * *

"That thief of yours got caught."

Olfrid blinked at the words. "What? How did-"

Eorlund Grey-Mane shook his head. "Simple. He's a thief. I'm willing to bet he saw coin and deviated from the task you gave him."

The patron of the Battle-Born clan rubbed his chin with a frown. "Damn. I suppose I should have known better than to put such a delicate matter in a thief's hands, but they're supposed to be some of the best at sneaking around..."

Eorlund picked up the letter that rested upon the table, and scanned the words.

_Grey-Mane,_

_I cannot and will not tolerate your antics any longer. I am willing to overlook this partcular incident, as no harm came of it, but persist in this and you may find yourself living outside of Whiterun._

_Your ties to the so-called 'Thieves Guild', however, are another matter altogether, and for the sake of Whiterun, I will be taking steps to counteract the menace of the 'Guild'._

_-Regent of Whiterun_

Olfrid watched the elder Grey-Mane read the letter, and tried to do the same. "Who...?"

"That Thalmor bitch up in Dragonsreach." He tossed the letter toward Olfrid. "She thinks _I'm_ the one with ties to the Thieves Guild."

Olfrid read the letter, and frowned. "When did you receive this letter?"

"Shortly after your thief was captured." Eorlund heaved a sigh and leaned back in his chair. "I'm still appalled that _you_ have ties to a guild of thieves, Battle-Born, but hopefully that will work out in our favor in the end. That's also assuming the rest of them don't let their greed blind them."

"And when exactly was the thief captured? It's been at least two days since I set him on the task... I'd just assumed he was taking it simple, staking out Dragonsreach, observing and making sure he didn't get caught."

"He was caught a couple nights ago," Eorlund said, looking troubled. "Though I'm still unsure why she assumed _I_ sent him..."

"Maybe he talked, and pointed a false finger?" Olfrid commented. "If that's the case, though, he certainly could have pointed elsewhere. He risked much, naming your family."

Eorlund nodded and took the letter back as it was offered to him, then tossed it into the firepit in the middle of his home. "Which is exactly why I warned against you sending a thief to do the job. No honor, no self-control, and horrible under pressure."

"So now what? It's too soon to try sending someone else to infiltrate Dragonsreach..." Olfrid watched the letter burn, his expression thoughtful.

"We still don't know the state of affairs within Dragonsreach, so that remains our top priority." Eorlund stood and began to pace. "We need someone who can infiltrate Dragonsreach without arousing suspicion. Someone like..." His face twisted in disgust. "...A member of the Thalmor," he all but spat the words.

"You've lost your mind, Grey-Mane," Olfrid sighed. "No elf is going to defy their masters like that, especially not for something that counteracts their presence in Whiterun."

"It was an example, idiot," Eorlund snapped. "I'm aware of that fact. Who else does the Thalmor trust nowadays, though?"

Silence settled between them as they both lapsed into thought on the topic. The silence was broken by the sound of the Grey-Mane home's front door being opened. Both men turned their attention to the door.

"Ah, not just Eorlund Grey-Mane, but Olfrid Battle-Born as well?" The voice was female, sharp and bore much arrogance. The speaker was an elf dressed in the robes of the Thalmor. "I'm sorry to intrude at this hour."

Both men paled at the mer's presence. "Regent," Eorlund said, maintaining as much calm as he could muster. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"You received my letter," the Regent of Whiterun said with a humored tone. "I'm following up on it." She glanced about the home. "You don't mind if I look around, do you? The best interests of Whiterun, after all, may very well hang in the balance."

"By all means, Regent. I do kindly ask you refrain from entering the closed room upstairs, however." He shook his head as the high elf's eyes narrowed. "I've nothing to hide, of course, but Fralia may not be so... tolerant of you in her room."

"I'll deal with that if it arises," the Regent said dismissively. Two more Thalmor guards stepped into the home, and the door finally closed. "You two are to search the home for anything proving the thief's story true. I personally do not believe it, but cannot dismiss it, either." The last comment seemed to be directed at Eorlund.

"I should be leaving, then," Olfrid said, rising from his seat. "I'd hate to get in your way."

"No no, Battle-Born. Stay. I insist." There was a malevolent glint in the Regent's eyes. "I'd heard you two had mended fences, but hadn't dared believe it. Your families finally tired of the petty squabbles born of this war?" Her eyes followed the two guards as one began to search the lower level, while the second walked upstairs.

"We found a common enemy that's more important than the war," Eorlund said.

"Truly? And who might that enemy be?" The Regent sounded genuinely interested, but Eorlund suspected it was an act intended to lull him into saying more than needed.

"These dragons, of course. We know nothing of them, but we try to learn whatever we can."

"Dragons." The tone in the Regent's voice was less than convinced. "And so to learn more about dragons, you send a thief to Dragonsreach?"

"I'm sorry, Regent, but I haven't a clue what you mean. Why would I send a dishonorable individual such as a thief to gather anything such as information? To Dragonsreach, no less, home of the Jarl? And the Regent, I may add," he said, noting her expression at mention of the Jarl.

"I think the better question is, why wouldn't you?" Her tone was amused.

"For the very reasons I outlined," he replied. "Besides, I have no ties to such dishonorable folk as thieves, let alone a guild of them."

"M'lady!" came a voice from upstairs. "I've found something of interest!"

The Regent's eyes registered the confusion in Eorlund's eyes with no small amount of humor. "Anything I ought to be concerned with, Grey-Mane?" she said softly.

"I would think not," he replied, though the way the guard upstairs had called down, he had cause to be concerned. He began to wonder if he'd left any incriminating letters in his home.

The guard came downstairs, holding in his hand an amulet. The wooden carving attached to the string was the symbol commonly associated with Talos. "I found this in the nightstand next to Grey-Mane's bed," he commented. "Apparently, the destruction of the statue was not message enough."

Eorlund glared at the guard. "How dare you," he growled. "I've not worshipped Talos in years, not since you elves mandated the banning of it! I no longer own an amulet of Talos!"

"My guard seems to be holding evidence otherwise," the Regent said smoothly.

"Evidence you brought in with you!" he roared. "That amulet is not mine!"

"Mm, you could be right about that," the Regent mused. "You're not the only one who lives here, after all." Her eyes turned to the guard holding the amulet. "Bring Grey-Mane and his family to Dragonsreach. We'll discern the true owner, given enough-"

"Wait!" Olfrid's voice was sudden and made everyone jump. "He speaks true, Regent. The amulet of Talos isn't his."

"And how would you know that, Battle-Born? It's here, in his home." The Regent's eyes were now upon Olfrid, narrowed rather dangerously.

"Because it's mine." Olfrid's voice was unwavering, such that it almost convinced Eorlund. "I hid the amulet away here months ago, without Eorlund's knowledge."

Eorlund knew Olfrid was lying. _He's taking the fall for me_, he thought, his respect for the patron of the Battle-Born clan swelling.

The Regent and the guard both exchanged glances. "Was there anything out of the ordinary about your amulet, Battle-Born? Any unusual carvings on the back, or any damage?" she asked.

"No."

"We'll see, then." She reached a hand out for the amulet. "So when I inspect this amulet, I'll find no damage, or personal touches made to it, correct?"

"Correct, unless you create them before my very eyes," Olfrid said, his eyes sparkling lightly with amusement, as if to say the idea was ludicrous.

The Regent turned the amulet over in her hands, looking it over closely; her fingertips glided over the wooden carving, as if to feel any damage or markings her keen eyes may miss. "Well, that's interesting..." She glanced up at Olfrid. "It's as you say. No damage, no markings. It's simply a well-worn, ordinary wooden amulet of Talos upon string." She handed the amulet back to the guard who'd found it. "How very bold of you to speak up and be honest. One does not see it often enough anymore." She nodded at the guard. "Arrest him. Bring him to Dragonsreach."

"I'll go quietly," Olfrid said, hands moving to plain view.

"Generous of you." The Regent watched the guard with the amulet gesture toward the door, then turned her gaze to the second guard. "And you, did you find anything in the Grey-Mane's home?"

"Only this letter." He held up the letter in question. "I thought nothing of it, but my thoughts are not yours, Regent."

Eorlund stared at the letter, as if hoping to identify it.

The Regent of Whiterun reached out and took the letter, unfolded it, and began to read it aloud. "'I can bear it no longer, Olfina. Let us slip out of Whiterun soon and travel to Riften, where we can'- did you even bother to read this, guardsman?" She waved the letter around exasperatedly. "This is clearly a love letter from..." She scanned the bottom of the letter. "...Jon Battle-Born."

Eorlund and Olfrid exchanged stunned glances.

"I'll assume you two knew nothing of this, then." She handed the letter to the stunned Eorlund. "Harmless enough. We have other matters to attend to... but thank you, guardsman, for... enlightening these two." She nodded to the other guard. "Take Battle-Born away. As for you, Grey-Mane..." Her eyes shifted to Eorlund. "Your innocence seems proven. I apologize for the unannounced visit and the accusations. Rest assured when I say the thief we caught in Dragonsreach will pay for his lie very dearly."

"As you see fit, Regent." He watched as the Regent, both guards, and Olfrid departed his home. His mind spun with everything that had happened, and he decided to check the letter the other guardsman had found.

_I can bear it no longer, Olfina. Let us slip out of Whiterun soon and travel to Riften, where we can be wed at long last. If this means our families will be outraged, we will distances ourselves from them and begin a new family of our own._

_You remember that Khajiit I told you about, the one who stayed at the Mare three months ago? He has gotten back to me, and told me he can fashion us some of the most exquisite rings for us to wear. He also said he has information that our families may be interested in, but he wanted to speak of it in person._

_If you would be mine, meet me during the day wearing a wreath of red, blue and purple mountain flowers. We will depart later that evening for Riften by way of carriage._

_With deepest love,_

_Jon Battle-Born_

* * *

"My lord, I have news." The Dunmer's voice snapped the blonde Nord from his doldrums, and turned his attention to the door of his bedroom. "Olfrid Battle-Born was just brought in on accusations of worshipping Talos."

"That's absurd," a balding Imperial said, rising from his chair near the door. "The Battle-Borns sided with the Empire, so-"

"Perhaps not," the Nord said slowly. "Just because the Battle-Borns sided with the Empire doesn't mean they've stopped believing. The same could be said of me." His gaze shifted to the Dunmer. "Irileth, don't tell me you've been sneaking about again."

"One of us has to stay in the know, Jarl Balgruuf," she said with a chuckle. "Besides, they haven't caught me yet, and I've been sneaking about Dragonsreach for three months now."

He sighed heavily. "That's not my point," he grumbled. "If they _do_ catch you-"

"Which they won't," she added.

"There will be no mercy for you, or for any of us," Balgruuf finished. "You risk more than your own neck, my friend. Just remember that."

"I'm aware, my lord. That's why I'm so careful to remain hidden."

Balgruuf scratched his chin gently. "Still, Olfrid... it _is_ odd, I'll give it that. Where did they bring him from? His home?"

"Apparently, he was visiting Eorlund when the so-called Regent paid the Grey-Mane home a visit," Irileth said quietly. "You remember that thief they found sneaking around Dragonsreach? The Regent seemed to suspect Eorlund had a hand behind that, for whatever reason, because she went to 'investigate the Grey-Mane household'. I understand he's not here, so she must not have found anything."

"Hmm..." The Jarl lowered his hand. "She goes in with the suspicion that Eorlund was involved, and comes back to Dragonsreach with Olfrid on accusations of worshipping Talos... no doubt they searched the Grey-Mane family's home top to bottom... but how would Olfrid have been identified as...?"

"I overheard one of the guards saying that, on orders from the Regent herself, he brought an amulet of Talos into the home and pretended to find it. The ruthless 'plant the evidence' trick, it seems." Irileth looked disgusted.

"But Olfrid ended up in...?" His brow furrowed in thought. "It makes no sense... the only thing I can think of is that Olfrid took the fall for Eorlund. Why would he do that, though...?"

"Perhaps because he suspected the amulet was brought in, and that if he owned up to it, he couldn't be punished for something he didn't do." It was the Imperial who spoke. "It's not entirely impossible he was trying to protect Eorlund, either; according to Adrianne, both families are getting along better lately. Have been for quite some time now."

Balgruuf sighed. "These Thalmor are running Whiterun into the ground," he muttered.

"That's nothing new," Irileth said quietly. "I'm sure they'd run Skyrim into the ground if they controlled it entirely."

Balgruuf glanced at the Imperial. "Proventus, do you think you can still sneak letters out of Dragonsreach?"

"Assuming the Thalmor haven't blocked off the exit to your balcony, yes." Proventus straightened up.

"Good. I want you and yours to send a letter to the College of Winterhold." His expression became thoughtful. "Tell the Arch-Mage it's time for the College to repay their debt to Irileth and I."

"M'lord." The Imperial rose from his seat, bowed to Balgruuf, and departed the room, leaving the Jarl with his Housecarl.

"Are you sure that's wise, m'lord?" Irileth asked softly. "Getting the College involved..."

"I'd rather not, either," he agreed, sitting upon the edge of his bed. "Even so, I can think of no one else who still owes us a debt. I'm through waiting for something to happen that we can exploit; it's time for us to take action." He looked Irileth in the eyes. "It's time we took Whiterun back from the Thalmor."

* * *

_Elenwen,_

_I understand recent events have left the Embassy in a state of disarray. I believe I may have a solution for you, but I will require something of you before I can give it so freely._

_If you wish for the infiltrator who disgraced your fine name to be caught and brought before you to face justice, I will require a sum of two hundred gold pieces and free access to the Embassy._

_If you wish for me to solve your little defection problem, I will require a sum of three hundred gold pieces and a note that marks the bearer as a representative of the Aldmeri Dominion._

_If you wish for me to solve both issues, I will require all conditions as listed above, in addition to an artifact the Regent of Whiterun confiscated when she assumed control of Dragonsreach: the Ebony Blade. I also do not wish to be asked any questions as to why I need any of the aforementioned things._

_Do not forget how well I have served both you, and the Aldmeri Dominion, in the past. As ever, I look forward to fruitful business with you._

_-En'zhar_

* * *

_**A.N. - **That moment where you go to use the keyboard commands of Ctrl-I and Ctrl-B for the 'A.N.' annotation, and somehow end up pressing Ctrl-A (the keyboard command for 'Select All', for those who aren't fully aware) instead... had a moment of panic and 'be very careful, man...'_

_Thellias makes his first appearance, and things are getting interesting in Whiterun. __I do feel bad for leaving both Runael and Elenwen out of this chapter, excluding correspondence from others, but I didn't want to fill this chapter with too much. For me, introducing Thellias and developing things in Whiterun a bit further took just a tiny bit more precedence over Runael/Elenwen this chapter._

_Next chapter... will be along as soon as I can manage it. I will admit I had a case of writer's block between Chapters 2 and 3, but that seems to have vanished now, and I do have the weekend off, so I should be able to get some writing in. (You didn't expect me to reveal too much as to what's to come, did you? :P )_

_-Spiritslayer_


	4. Ill Tidings

_Eorlund,_

_You know as well as I do that my father is not guilty of what he claimed, and the Thalmor certainly know it as well... yet they continue to hold him in Dragonsreach. This is an affront to the Battle-Born family's name, and we're not going to simply take it._

_We strike Dragonsreach tonight to free my father. Your family is welcome to join us._

_-Idolaf_

* * *

The only thing Adalla actively registered was the sudden shift in her balance, moments before she fell to the stone-lined road. She broke her fall with her hands, and glanced back distractedly.

Her foot had snagged on a creep cluster while she'd been distracted by her own thoughts. Embarrassed by this, she quickly stood, glanced about for anyone who may have seen her trip, and when she saw no one, she continued on as if nothing had happened.

She dearly wished such was the case in the long run, too. It had taken some time to convince the Regent of Whiterun that she was needed elsewhere, as ordered by First Ambassador Elenwen; not even the threat to the Regent's husband had been quite enough at first. Once Adalla had written a letter to Elenwen, however, and was about to send it off, the Regent was made aware of the letter's contents, and realized that the First Ambassador was quite serious about the new orders.

She had been stunned, perhaps even mortified, to learn that Runael, her best friend in Skyrim - perhaps even Tamriel - had betrayed the Dominion. She had resolved to slap Runael for keeping her defection a secret, but had also sworn to do whatever it took to change her best friend's mind... before it did become too late. If Alinor hadn't yet heard about it, they eventually would.

A low growl caught Adalla's attention, and she glanced about quickly for the source. It was a low growl, easily that of an animal. _Saber cat?_ she wondered, eyes scanning the wilderness on either side of the road. Clasped to her left arm was an elven shield, which she raised slowly; her right hand moved to the elven sword at her waist.

No sooner did her hand touch the hilt did she hear movement from the bushes to her immediate left. Her head turned to face the source: it was indeed a saber cat, and it was all but flying through the air as it pounced upon its prospective prey.

She was no slouch, however, and quickly moved the shield to block the saber cat's lunge. The surface of the shield met the feline's face quite firmly, and as it collapsed to the ground, dazed from the impact, Adalla prepared the shield for a more active bash. The feline staggered from the impact, and even seemed to be contemplating a retreat; at the very least, it seemed hesitant to press the attack against the mer.

So focused was she on the saber cat that she almost didn't register a new rustling from the bushes to her left. Her eyes shifted to the bushes a split-second before a second saber cat leapt from hiding. Her shield was not quite so fast this time, however, and the large feline collided with Adalla, knocking her onto her back. She considered herself fortunate to be wearing armor, as it helped cushion the brunt of the fall and keep her from being completely winded, but she was now at a severe disadvantage: two saber cats against none but herself.

The first recovered from its dazed state and reared back, as if preparing to pounce. It made no other moves, however; perhaps this was because the second saber cat was pressing its own attack, trying to sink claws into the mer's elven armor to no success.

It was enough for Adalla, though. She was able to move her shield arm and bash the second feline's face fiercely, dazing it as she had the first. She took advantage of the moment to draw her elven blade; the close proximity of the dazed feline meant that the sharp edge of the sword found a mark in the saber cat's side, which caused it to yowl in pain. She scrambled to her feet, burying the tip of her sword in the ground long enough to push herself completely upright, then drew the blade and readied it once more. "Come on, then!" she taunted, settling into a combat stance. She was still outnumbered, but now that she had an advantage-

She felt a sudden pain explode through her left shoulder, and cried out to reflect the pain; control of her arm became much harder to maintain. In fact, before she knew it, she couldn't even move it. Horrific realization dawned on her as she realized the immobility was _spreading_ through her body. _Paralysis poison...!_ she thought; a quick glance to her shoulder confirmed the suspicion that she'd been poisoned: an arrow, daedric in appearance, was sticking out of her shoulder.

Soon, Adalla was unable to move, and the first saber cat lunged at her, knocking her helplessly onto the road. She would have cried out in agony as the feline's powerful jaws sank sharp teeth into her right arm, had the poison not restricted her ability to do even that.

Out the corner of her eye, she could see someone step into the open: a Khajiit, fur as black as ebony, eyes as golden as a sunset. He was wearing hide armor, tufts of greenery attached to it by leather strips - camouflage, she realized. She'd never been good at recognizing a Khajiit's facial expressions, but she was fairly certain this Khajiit was smirking.

"E sends his regards, as well as his apologies," the Khajiit said, his voice as smooth as any other of his kind. "Your death, while regrettable, is also necessary."

_E...? Could it be Runael's...?_ Adalla's head swam with a mixture of pain and confusion. She saw the second saber cat prepare to attack her.

Although she couldn't move, she could still feel pain - and she certainly felt a second arrow bury itself in her right shoulder. The excrutiating pain she was now feeling proved too much for her, and she only managed to think _I'm going to die..._ before blacking out.

* * *

"I'm afraid I don't know who you're talking about," the Khajiit said with a sniff.

Runael sighed softly. "E told me he knew all the caravan leaders, so I'm inclined to think otherwise."

The Khajiit, seated upon his woven mat, only shook his head.

The mer stared at him for a moment. "Come on, Ma'dran. You know you can trust-"

"I know nothing of the sort," he interrupted, eyes meeting Runael's and affixing her with a fierce glare. "We have done business in the past, this is true. This does not mean, however, that I know I can trust you."

Runael shifted her pack around to her front and rummaged through it briefly. "Fine. I can play it this way."

"You mean to threaten me, do you?" Ma'dran snarled. "Or perhaps bribe me with coin? You cannot possibly change my mind-"

She pulled out the pouch filled with moon sugar and extended it to him. "It's not coin, but perhaps this will change your tune," she said simply. "Now, where can I find E?"

Ma'dran took the pouch and opened it. Runael smiled as his eyes widened, and just watched as he took a tentative sniff. "This is... most certainly his," Ma'dran murmured. His eyes shifted up toward Runael. "Understand something, my friend: E has just as many enemies as he does friends, contacts and acquaintances. One can never be too careful when it comes to protecting such a Khajiit."

"I understand." She reached out to take the pouch away from Ma'dran. "Now tell me where E is, or I'll be taking that back."

He pulled it away from her and sighed. "Very well. I do not know where he is now, but he was here in Windhelm a little over a week ago. He made it sound as though he was staying at Candlehearth Hall for a while yet; while we haven't seen him depart, that does not mean he has not left."

"What was he doing in Windhelm?" she asked, brow raised in curiosity.

"That, I cannot say - for I do not know," he added, noting her dubious expression. "Given this is E we're talking about, he was probably pursuing some lucrative business venture, or perhaps meeting with a friend." Ma'dran paused to think for a moment. "...Come to think of it, when we last spoke, he seemed... enthused about a prospective venture with the Thalmor once again. He did mention he had a visit to Solitude planned in the near future."

"The Thalmor?" she echoed. "Did he give any sort of hint as to what he was-"

Ma'dran shook his head. "He did not. You know how he is: he will say whom he's involved with, but not the what or the why."

"Because it 'adds to the mystery'," she mused with a chuckle.

"Precisely." Ma'dran regarded her for a moment longer. "Do you have need of E, my friend?"

She shook her head. "It's nothing pressing, Ma'dran," she replied. "I would appreciate his help with a matter, but if he's busy, it can wait."

"I'll pass along the message, when I next see him," the Khajiit responded with a smile.

"Thank you." She reached out for the pouch again.

Ma'dran blinked at her outstretched hand. "You paid for the information," he said stiffly.

"I did, but I didn't get nearly what that pouch was worth. Keep half of it, and hand the rest back." Her fingers curled inward.

"You are ruthless in much, Runael," he commented with a smile. "I'd not thought bartering for information was counted among your talents." He retreated into his tent, remaining in view of the Altmer, and returned with an empty pouch. Carefully, he transferred some of the moon sugar from the full pouch to the empty one, then handed the newest pouch back to Runael.

She took it, looked inside, and frowned. "This isn't half," she said flatly. "Looks more like but a tiny fraction of what I gave you."

"Sometimes, information is more valuable than you realize," Ma'dran commented. "You must also consider that I am willing to pass a message along to E for your sake; if I did everything for free, my friend, I would soon be out of business."

Her frown deepened. "All you told me about E was vague, and thus not worth as much as you're presuming." She extended the pouch toward him. "Half and half."

"All I told you about E was accurate; if you feel so inclined to follow up on what I mentioned about Solitude, then it is entirely accurate," he countered. "So tell me, my friend: what need have you for so much moon sugar?"

_To deal with stubborn caravaneers such as yourself_, she thought; she'd suspected it was likely the only reason E had left her the pouch in the first place. "The same could very well be asked of you."

"I am a merchant, Runael," Ma'dran responded, starting to look annoyed. "A purveyor of rare and exotic goods. Moon sugar is one such good, and I am able to do far more with it than you could likely imagine."

"I see only three uses for it," she said tentatively, noting the expression upon his face. "Eating it, refining it into skooma - which is borderline illegal, if not outright - and selling it."

"And in your shortsightedness do you not realize there are more uses for it," Ma'dran sighed. "Insistent as you are, I'll give you a little more: you will leave here with one quarter of the original contents of the pouch."

Runael considered pushing her luck just a bit more. "One-third," she offered.

The Khajiit shook his head. "You push your luck a bit too firmly, my friend; I advise against it. One quarter, or you walk away with what you currently have."

* * *

All was busy in the Winking Skeever, unusually so. Most seats were taken, if not all of them; Lisette's voice was barely audible over the din of the inn's patrons. More than a few people had filed into the Winking Skeever, only to find that perhaps it was too busy for them to stay for a bit longer.

This was not the case of a figure wearing a black robe, a hood up and over their face. When they walked in, they began to look about the inn, as if hoping to find someone in particular.

One pair of eyes followed the unknown newcomer with some amusement. The one to whom they belonged was a Khajiit of dark brown fur, with black tufts of fur about his eyes and upon his face; he wore a fine blue coat, neatly-kept brown pants and a pair of black boots over his feet. His golden eyes were directed down to the tankard of mead in one clawed hand, then closed briefly as the Khajiit took a brief drink from the tankard. When the tankard was lowered and his eyes opened, the figure was standing before him, looking directly at him. "You found me," he mused softly, yet loud enough for them - and only them - to hear.

"Your courier may have mentioned you were here," came the voice of Elenwen from beneath the hood, quiet enough for him alone to hear. She jerked her head toward the stairs leading to the upper floor. "You rented a room?"

"I did. You wish to talk somewhere more... private." It was not a question, and he was already standing up. "Follow me, my friend."

"We are hardly 'friends'," she muttered quietly; he could tell she tried to make sure he didn't hear it, but he pretended not to notice. Still, she followed him as he moved toward the stairs, and into the first room on the left. Once the door was closed, she pulled her hood back and sighed. "I hate feeling as though I need to sneak about Solitude."

"Such is the curse of being with the Dominion," he said with a chuckle. "Undesired attention and all. Still, your treatment here is better than it would be in Windhelm."

She grimaced at these words. "Very true, and not all that comforting besides." She sat in a chair near the bed. "Your offers were tempting, and your... prices rather questionable."

"Do you mean to question me about them?" En'zhar asked, his golden eyes narrowing.

"No. I would like to, but I shall refrain from doing so." Elenwen met his eyes with her own. "I know you have your reasons, En'zhar, and always will."

"Will you be taking me up on my offers, then?" the Khajiit inquired, leaning against the door and crossing his arms.

"I will not question why you desire what you've asked of me, but I do still have questions," she commented. "Why do you wish to help me with matters that are none of your business in the first place?"

"While it's true the infiltration of the Embassy has nothing to do with me," En'zhar agreed, "the defection of Runael does. You are - pardon, _were_ not the only one within the Embassy who was willing to work with me."

"That doesn't answer the question."

En'zhar considered his words carefully for several moments, aware of the sharp gaze from the First Ambassador. "At risk of sounding as though I have ulterior motives, I needed more than one mer within the Embassy. I am in hopes that I can convince Runael to return to the Embassy, the Thalmor... and to you." He added the final bit in hopes of making it seem much more personal for Elenwen.

He succeeded: her expression became a mixture of equal parts pain and longing, both light in measure. "I am currently trying to do the very same," she said quietly. "I sent her best friend to try and persuade-"

"That you resort to the word 'try' means you don't have faith in the effort," he interrupted. "You hope against hope. You know that I can, and will, get things done to your satisfaction. Trust not the efforts of an unproven talent, my friend."

Elenwen looked offended at his rather quick judgment of her. "Adalla has always been able to persuade Runael where I have not," she snapped defensively.

The name 'Adalla' made En'zhar's eye twitch, but no other indicator of familiarity with the name was made. _She is destined to fail, but I ought not impart that information..._ "Do you think she's persuasive enough to get this job done?" he replied.

"I..." She folded her hands in her lap and looked at them. "...I'd like to think so."

"So your answer is 'no'." He chuckled softly.

"I suppose." She didn't sound all that enthused to be agreeing with the Khajiit. "Why the matter of the infiltration?"

"Word has reached me that you are preparing the Embassy for a guest. Someone from Alinor, yes?"

She stared at him. "That's... a confidential matter. How did you learn of that?" she asked sharply, and in such a way that suggested she would not accept a dismissive answer.

"I have my means," he said, and he offered no more than that. "In any event, wouldn't you like to resolve the matter of the infiltration, and get some closure for it besides, before the Vindicator arrives?"

"I would, yes," she agreed. "Don't deflect the question, though. How did you learn of the Vindicator coming to visit from Alinor? That matter is classified to those outside the Embassy."

"I told you, I have my means."

"That's not good enough," she snapped. "You forget who you're trying to deflect, Khajiit. If you do not answer me, former dealings be damned: I will drag you back to the Embassy and obtain the answer in far less pleasant methods... well, for you."

En'zhar looked doubtful at first, but he'd worked with Elenwen enough in the past to know when she was serious... and the expression upon her face was deadly so. "Your newest guard," he confessed. "He kept me up-to-date on things in Runael's absence, but that was all. He told me about Runael's defection - even informing me that he delivered the letter bearing the ill news to you himself - and that the Embassy was being prepared for a visitor."

"Have you told anyone else about this matter?" she asked, her voice still sharp.

"No. There is no point in letting word slip; doing so could risk much for the Dominion both here and afar."

She nodded at this. "You may wish to find a new... 'informant'," she said after a moment's pause. "Your current one will be facing punishment for leaking classified information to an outside party. I also regret to inform you that knowing you obtained the information in the first place does not give me a compelling reason to trust you with your offers."

His expression fell a bit at these words. _I need to try and stay in her good graces, and get her to accept at least one offer._ "I understand. I'd not thought it would be as big a deal as you make it out to be."

"That was your mistake, then." She stood abruptly. "I'll be leaving, then, unless you have something else to tell me."

He had not been expecting the abrupt decision on Elenwen's part. "What if I told you why I needed the things I do for each of my offers?" he ventured.

"I don't see why it would keep me interested in hiring you again, but you have my attention." She remained standing, as though ready to depart the moment she heard something she didn't like.

He hoped his reasons wouldn't cause such to happen. "First, the five hundred gold pieces. Even I must pay contacts and informants," he said. "Even then, my services are never free - so I will not hide the fact that a portion of that would be for my own personal gain."

"Fair enough." She sounded agreeable enough with this reason.

"Full access to the Embassy should seem self-explanatory: I cannot deduce how the infiltrator navigated the Embassy without seeing it for myself. They may have left some manner of clue behind that they were unaware of, and that you and yours have not found just yet - I'm not saying you're incapable," he added quickly, noting her expression of irritation, "just that I've probably spent more time searching for such things than those at the Embassy have."

"...Acceptable, albeit barely."

"The note indicating official representation of the Aldmeri Dominion is... well, if it's all the same to you, First Ambassador, I'd rather keep that a secret. It will have its uses, though, I assure you, and in the end, it would play a pivotal role in solving the matter of Runael's defection."

The answer seemed barely passable for Elenwen, as she nodded very lightly. "Very well. And the Ebony Blade? This is the first I've heard of any such thing being in Whiterun."

"Then allow me to explain that first." En'zhar cleared his throat. "Several months ago, there was talk that one of the Jarl's children was... troubled. Someone went to investigate the matter. They were arrested and executed for murdering the court wizard and taking a key from his body; they were linked to the death when the Jarl caught them trying to steal a key from his person.

"Both keys had been in his possession up to the point where the current Regent of Whiterun confronted him and placed him under house arrest. She found both keys, and asked him what they unlocked. I understand he was very reluctant to speak of it, but... well, you of all people know that the Dominion is good at obtaining answers they desire."

She simply nodded at this.

"When she found the Ebony Blade within its 'prison', she apparently moved the artifact somewhere else, presumably somewhere more secure. It seems likely she has not used it herself."

"And why do you want it?"

"To be blunt... profit. I have a prospective buyer who would be interested in obtaining the Blade for his collection. This buyer is very well-connected, as well, and having him among my list of contacts would expand my own network quite substantially... which, in turn, and assuming you and I continue to do business, means you have a wider reach throughout Tamriel." En'zhar flashed a smile. "It's a win-win in the end, First Ambassador."

"I'll be the judge of that." She stared at him for a moment. "How would you go about convincing Runael to return, if such is your plan?"

"Speaking with her, trying to convince her myself... and then using that note if spoken word fails me." The Khajiit moved away from the door and began to pace. "She and I have worked together in the past; I hope to use that to my advantage."

"What do you mean when you say 'using the note'?" Elenwen asked, her curiosity piqued.

"Ah, no. Sorry, but that would ruin the surprise." He smiled apologetically. _I also don't want to give you any ideas that would cut me out of profits_, he thought to himself.

Once again, she was staring at him through narrowed eyes. "I have no reason to trust you right now," she began. "You have obtained classified information, you have tried to keep the means of such secret from me, and you will not explain what exactly the note is for. At the same time, however, I know for a fact that you do indeed know how to get things done... and the thought of turning down nothing short of a guaranteed resolution to _two_ headaches makes me think myself mad.

"I will accept your offers, but with one condition." Elenwen crossed her arms, as if daring En'zhar to protest. "You will keep me up-to-date on every development, be they big or small. If I find you keep even one fact from me, I will have you dragged to the Embassy, where I can and will arrange for you to... 'visit' Alinor."

The Khajiit knew the implications behind such a 'visit', and knew that he was risking much in his own way by agreeing to her condition. _But still..._ "Agreed. I can start immediately, provided you have the gold and the note; I will also need a notice from you telling the Regent that I am owed the Ebony Blade, too."

She wordlessly reached into a small satchel at her waist and pulled out a small note, then set it upon the seat she'd been using prior. "I'll be on my way, then." She brushed past him and opened the door, but hesitated a moment. "And En'zhar. Thank you for offering to help. I was all but at my wits' end, but now... now, perhaps I can finally relax my mind." She pulled her hood over her head.

He listened to her depart, then strode toward the note she'd left behind. _That was less than optimal,_ he thought to himself. _Still, she agreed to both. I just need to be careful in how I keep information from her, and everything will work out fine._ He picked up the note, unfolded it, and read it.

_You will find five hundred gold pieces, a letter granting you free access to the Embassy, and a note marking the bearer as a representative of the Aldmeri Dominion within a small chest behind the statue of Meridia, atop Mount Kilkreath. While I cannot deliver the Ebony Blade to you, I have also left a letter for you to deliver to the Regent of Whiterun, which in turn will grant you the Blade. The chest is locked by a rather complex lock, but I think that will thwart all but you._

_Do not make me regret this decision, En'zhar, or I will personally remove your head from your shoulders._

* * *

"Pathetic," the Regent murmured, smiling wickedly. She was seated upon the throne of Dragonsreach, feeling quite pleased with herself - and for good reason.

Idolaf Battle-Born lay upon the floor before the throne, writhing in pain. The rest of his family, as well as those who opted to fight alongside him, were unconscious. The Grey-Manes were not present, however.

"Did you really think you could defeat _me_ with such a half-hearted attempt, Battle-Born?" she cooed. "I am the Regent of Whiterun; you are _all_ beneath me."

"Shut up, bitch," Idolaf groaned out.

"Hmm, you've still got some fight in you, I see..." She rose from the throne slowly. "But is it worth my time...?" She strode toward him slowly, eyes never leaving Idolaf's writhing form.

She had not been expecting him to lash out with a dagger in hand, and hissed in pain as the blade slashed across her clothed calf. He managed to roll onto his front, and readied himself as best he could to strike again.

She countered this by simply stomping on his wrist with her other foot. "Fool," she snarled. "Do not get so confident simply because you cut me once." She ground her heel upon his wrist, making him cry out in pain, and eventually forcing his grip on the dagger to loosen until it fell.

"Y-you... won't get... away with this..." he gasped.

"I'd say you're confused. After all, _you_ are the one who tried - and failed - to assault Dragonsreach." She glanced down at the injury upon her leg. "Still... you've proven... energetic enough." She gave him a smile that made his skin crawl. "You'll do."

"Wh-what...? What are you going on abo-" His words were cut off by a sudden kick to the side of the head, and he lost consciousness.

She looked at the rest of the family. "Guardsmen," she called. "Take the rest to the dungeon - separate cells." She looked down at Idolaf, and let her smile twist to a sinister grin... one that revealed an unnatural pair of fangs. "This one, however, is mine..."

* * *

_I cannot be off this ship soon enough. The captain continues to harass me, even after Thellias confronted him directly a week ago. It was all I could do to keep from drawing my blade on him this last time. According to Thellias, death would be fitting for the captain, were we not out at sea._

_An amulet of Talos was found in the captain's quarters, with a small shrine to Talos built into a false wardrobe. That this vessel and its captain have been hired by the Dominion several times in the past, and has been home to heresy, is a slap to the Dominion's face. The worship of Talos is punishable by death; Thellias has promised me that I may exact it upon the captain once we land in Solitude._

_Not that the captain knows, of course. Thellias hasn't said a word of his discoveries, and has no intention of letting it slip to anyone but myself. Even the other five don't know about the captain's heresy._

_They'll know soon enough. Two more weeks before we reach Solitude._

_Thought of the week: the disappearance of the Dwemer millennia ago... did they truly disappear from Tamriel, or is there more to the story?_

_-Saarie, Vindicator-in-training_

* * *

**_A.N._**_ - Not a whole lot to say here and now. Had the opportunity to write up the next three chapters, but the two following this one... well, I'm not sure about the next, and I'm definitely considering a rewrite of the one following. We'll see, I guess._

_-Spiritslayer_


	5. Fanning the Embers

_Esteemed Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,_

_I regret to inform you that I am unable to answer your summons at this time, as my duties as Arch-Mage have me inexplicably busy of late. That is not to say I am refusing to see you at all; already, I make plans to visit Windhelm in the near future. I am hoping that you can wait just a little while longer for my visit._

_-Runael, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold_

* * *

She had done it. She was not sure how, especially not with security as tight as it was, but she had finally done it.

Irileth was finally able to gaze at Dragonsreach from the outside once again. She did not do so on a whim, of course; Jarl Balgruuf had asked her to sneak out as soon as possible once news had reached her ears that Idolaf had led a failed assault on Dragonsreach. That had been nearly a week ago, and Irileth had spent much time probing the Thalmor's defenses for a possible escape route.

She did find it fortunate that there was an escape route the Jarl could use, one that was safe... but she found it quite unfortunate that said escape route was one-way. It utilized the exit to his balcony, and from there, required a rather daring descent from the steep rooftops. Irileth herself had nearly fallen to the ground below several times during her own descent.

_Hopefully, he decides to escape as well and sees the path I used._ With that thought, Irileth began to slip away from the Cloud District of Whiterun under cover of a moonless night. She found her movements rather awkward, as she was wearing a black robe, but as she skirted around the edges of blazing braziers, she was grateful the robe didn't reflect light... unlike a couple metallic pieces of her preferred leather armor.

She was unsure of where to go once she managed to escape Whiterun. The center of Skyrim was more or less Thalmor territory, so she couldn't stay there... but Whiterun had no definitive allies beyond the hold's limits. Until Whiterun took a side in the civil war, neither the Empire nor the Stormcloaks would offer aid. No, she needed to go somewhere unaffiliated, somewhere that had no allegiance to the civil war, either.

They hadn't heard back from the College of Winterhold yet. Irileth decided the College would be as safe a place as any to escape to, to hide in. Besides, if something had befallen the courier bearing Proventus' letter, she could communicate the matter to them directly... and if they had received the letter, she could very easily remind them of it.

She stopped moving altogether as her eyes rested upon a very familiar, and very dangerous figure. _What is _she_ doing out of Dragonsreach at this hour?!_ Irileth thought wildly.

She was gazing upon the figure of the Regent of Whiterun, illuminated by dancing flames within their braziers. She knew it was far from uncommon for the Regent to walk Whiterun's streets... but that was always during the day. She'd not thought the Regent would be out now, though.

Her skin crawled as the Regent looked in her direction for several seconds, and though Irileth was in utter darkness, she couldn't help but worry she'd somehow been spotted. There was no call, however, to arrest the Dunmer sneaking about in the shadows, nor did the Regent move to investigate further. Irileth let out the tiniest of relieved sighs when the Regent's gaze shifted toward the stairs descending from the Cloud District into the rest of the city.

Then she began to speak.

"Beautiful, is it not?" the Regent murmured. "By day, Whiterun is a wondrous sight... but there's just something about the city at night, without Masser and Secunda lighting the sky overhead... just... the light of fire illuminating the city."

Irileth wondered who she was talking to, if anyone. She could see no one from her vantage point.

The Regent's gaze again shifted to where Irileth was located - and a smile played at the Altmer's lips. "Yes, I'm talking to you, Housecarl," she mused. "I'm in a particularly good mood, though, so I will not be arresting you... right this moment."

A chill ran up and down the Dunmer's spine. "How are you able to see me?" she asked quietly, figuring there was no point in hiding her presence any longer; the Regent had specified a Housecarl, after all.

The Regent laughed quietly. "Yes, I suppose you would like to know that." She wrapped magicka around her right hand, and released the spell after channeling for a moment. "It's as simple as detecting life with a spell. None but the dead hide from me while I use this spell." She continued to wear that smile... that triumphant smile that was starting to irritate Irileth. "So. Assuming you got away from Dragonsreach, where were you planning to go, Housecarl? There are not many places you could hide away in, not anymore."

She had to keep the College of Winterhold a secret from the Regent, but she could think of nowhere else that would sound convincing.

To her general relief, it seemed as if the Regent hadn't been expecting an answer. "I thought so. You have nowhere to go, and yet you attempt to escape. I may not live in the wilderness, Housecarl, but that owes, in part, to the dangers therein. Bandits, wolves, saber cats, bears... the walking dead, witches, rogue wizards and necromancers..." The Regent sighed softly. "It makes a home of barbaric Nords seem peaceful."

Irileth didn't answer; she was afraid speaking would give away more than she cared for.

"Not very talkative, are you?" The Regent chuckled softly. "Well, that's alright. You've humored me, so I'll humor you." She pointed toward the rest of the city. "I'll let you escape. I'll even be sporting enough to give you until dawn before I send guards to bring you back here." She lowered her hand, and smiled wickedly at Irileth. "Assuming they bring you back alive, you will suffer a great deal at my hands, Housecarl. Since you have nowhere to go, it will only be a matter of time. You will spend what free time you have left looking over your shoulder, living in a state of constant paranoia."

The thought didn't exactly appeal to Irileth, living in paranoia for a time, but she knew she would find relative safety in the College. "I'll endure," was all she said.

"Will you? Such bravado." The Altmer's wicked smile returned to a softer one. "Of course, you could always just go back inside. You will be arrested, of course, and beaten for trying to escape, but once that's through, you'll be free to... well, not 'go', per se, but return to your quarters." She turned her back to Irileth. "The choice is yours, Housecarl. A lifetime of isolated paranoia, or a brief period of agony and discomfort. Make your choice, and follow it through." With that, the Regent strode into Whiterun itself. "Oh, and one final thing... if you attempt to follow me, to learn where it is I'm going, I will skip the pleasantries and kill you myself."

Irileth tried to resist, but she found the words escaping her before she could stop them: "How would the First Ambassador react, knowing you've let someone under house arrest escape?" She was resigned to her fate now, knowing that her words-

"Elenwen?" The Regent laughed, and even stopped walking briefly. "That arrogant little girl has no control over me. I'm not afraid of her; I scarcely even bother answering to her any longer. No, the 'First Ambassador' is of no concern to me." With those words, she continued into Whiterun.

Irileth's mind spun briefly at the revelation. _All is not well with the Thalmor... or, at the very least, something is wrong with the Regent..._ she thought. Her gaze shifted to Dragonsreach for but a moment.

She tore her gaze from the palace as she set off, determined to slip away from Whiterun and reach the College. She could worry about the Regent's state of mind once she was there.

* * *

The sensation of being dragged across the ground caused Adalla to stir. Her eyes opened, but she saw little in the darkness surrounding her. She felt a hand gripping her leg... no, two hands gripping both legs. Whom they belonged to, she couldn't tell... her vision was blurry, and their back was to her besides.

She felt a dull throbbing in both shoulders, as well as numbness in her right arm.

Hadn't she been killed? Why, then, did she feel... anything?

She tried to move, but found movement of her arms to be rather restricted. When she tried again, she felt it: rope binding her arms behind her back. The realization made her start to panic a little, and her legs instinctively kicked.

She felt the ground stop moving below her, felt her legs drop. Whoever was dragging her had let her go, but why-

A blow to the side of her head made her lose consciousness once again, but not before she registered she was likely someone's captive. _Is it better than being dead, I wonder...?_

* * *

Eorlund Grey-Mane knew that unease had fallen upon Whiterun.

Nearly a week ago, he had received the letter from Idolaf, stating a very bold attack on Dragonsreach the same night. He had ordered his own family not to take part in the attack, deeming it 'far too reckless to succeed'. Though even his own family had doubted it, the day following only proved Eorlund was right: none who went to Dragonsreach the evening prior returned. As far as anyone in Whiterun could tell, they were all dead.

This, of course, made the far subtler plan of overthrowing the Regent that much harder. There was only so much the Grey-Manes could do alone when it came to the Thalmor; that had been the entire basis of Eorlund contacting Olfrid in the first place.

He heard knocking on the door to the home, and froze. _Who in Oblivion, and at this hour...?_ "Who goes there?" he asked loudly and sharply.

"It's me," came a familiar voice, one he hadn't heard in nearly two weeks now. "I'm home." The door opened slowly, and in stepped a young woman, smiling softly.

"Olfina," Eorlund said with a sigh of relief. "Damn it, girl, you've worried us all."

"I'm sorry," she said, striding to embrace Eorlund. "There was something I had to-"

"Eloping with Jon Battle-Born was foolish, especially nowadays," Eorlund interrupted, deciding to tip his hand.

His words shocked Olfina, and she backed away slowly. "I-I can... wait, h-how did you...?"

He picked up the letter that had been found two weeks ago. "This was found. Not by me," he added, noting her look of betrayed trust. "The Regent of Whiterun paid me a visit a couple weeks ago. Searched the home for any signs of relations to the Thieves Guild."

Olfina looked confused. "Why would she suspect...?"

"I don't know. In any event, that letter was discovered by one of the guardsmen she brought with her." He beckoned to the nearest seat. "So, where is your new husband?"

"I... I didn't think you'd approve of him being here," she muttered.

"Girl, listen to me." Eorlund rested both hands on her shoulders. "We may have chosen our sides in this war, but that doesn't mean we have to hate the other family through and through. Personally, I'm accepting of your decision. I don't speak for the rest of the family, of course, but you'll find no disagreement from me. If love can blossom in this day and age, and during a time of conflict, no less, then I think it best to pursue it."

She smiled and embraced him once again. "Thank you."

"That said, I still think you were both foolish to leave for Riften. Skyrim has always been dangerous, of course, but you don't know how to fight."

"Ex_cuse_ me," she said defensively, patting the small dagger at her side.

"Let me rephrase that." He cracked a small grin. "You don't know how to fight. Swinging a dagger around does not equate to fighting, girl."

She sighed exasperatedly and rolled her eyes. "I'm not joining the Companions."

"I'm not asking you to." He steered her toward the chair he'd gestured to. "I'm simply saying that your disappearance, coupled with your inability to fight, had us all worried."

"I was with Jon. He knows how to fight," she responded defensively.

"True though that may be, I don't think any of us trusted him to protect you sufficiently." He gently eased her into the chair. "Speaking of Jon, you never did answer me. Where is he now?"

"He went home after escorting me home," she replied.

"He's in for a shock, then." Eorlund shook his head. "Much happened while you two were off in Riften. The Regent's visit turned up nothing against me, but she brought an amulet of Talos with her - or, more to the point, the guardsman who 'found' it did. She tried pinning that on me." He scowled at the memory. "She would have succeeded, too, had Olfrid not been visiting."

"I... don't understand."

"He took the fall for me," he explained. "Claimed it was his, that he'd hidden it away. He was able to accurately guess the current state of the amulet, and because of that, and from an official standpoint-"

Frantic knocking echoed upon the Grey-Mane family's door, directing attention to it. "Olfina?" they heard a male's voice call. "Are you still-"

"Enter, boy," Eorlund said gruffly.

He knew there was much hesitation from Jon Battle-Born to enter the home, especially since he'd heard Eorlund respond instead of Olfina, but he did eventually enter. "Eorlund," he said as calmly as he could; his eyes, which were filled with trepidation, amused the elder Grey-Mane, however.

"It's not every day we get a Battle-Born asking for a Grey-Mane by name," he said, crossing his arms. "To what do we owe the... 'pleasure'?"

Jon looked at Olfina helplessly, blinking in surprise when she shook her head with a smile. "Y-you... know?" he asked, looking at Eorlund once again.

"I do." Eorlund let the hard exterior fall away, and he extended a hand toward Jon. "I do believe congratulations are in order. Were these better times for such an occasion, however."

Jon stepped close enough to shake Eorlund's hand, still in a state of disbelief. "Thank you," he replied, his voice sounding rather meek. "This was... unexpected. We were thinking we'd have to try and beat sense into both you and father." Jon's expression fell at mention of his father. "Speaking of, where _is_ father? No, forget that... where's my family? I only saw Lars..."

"I was just explaining," Eorlund said. He picked up the nearest chair and set it next to Olfina, who now looked just as concerned as Jon. "Sit. I'll start from the beginning, so you'll better understand."

* * *

"Do you think she escaped, m'lord?" Proventus asked tentatively.

"This _is_ Irileth we're talking about, Proventus," Balgruuf responded. There was no denying the look of concern upon his face all the same. "I think she did, and I'm hoping so. Escaping Dragonsreach, however, is not the same as escaping Whiterun."

"No, I suppose not." The Imperial thrummed his fingers upon the armrest of his chair. "Where would she go? I can think of nowhere safe from the Thalmor's reach."

"The College," the Jarl replied. "It's the first place I'd go, if I were put in her position."

"You mean the College of Winterhold?" Proventus asked, staring at Balgruuf. "What do they owe you and Irileth, anyway? It occurred to me that I didn't ask, when you asked me to write to the Arch-Mage, but I didn't think it appropriate to ask-"

"And yet you think it appropriate now?" Balgruuf interrupted, looking amused.

Proventus sputtered out incoherent words, as if trying to defend himself.

"It's fine, Proventus, you can relax." The Jarl crossed his arms. "This was... years ago now. You remember how I told the Dragonborn, several months ago, that I climbed the Seven Thousand Steps to High Hrothgar in the past?"

"I do, yes."

"That wasn't the only thing I did." Balgruuf's expression became distant. "Once, I was more of an adventurer than I currently am. Irileth was my travel companion for that time, too. One of our older, and quieter, exploits involved the College of Winterhold. Neither of us had a particular talent," he gestured to himself, "or interest in the College, so we never actually gained entry."

"What happened with the College, m'lord?"

"We saved them." Balgruuf closed his eyes. "Sometimes, it feels like it was just yesterday, and other times, it feels like it was several lifetimes ago. Funny how becoming Jarl of Whiterun will do that to a man's perspective..." He sighed. "I digress. Years and years ago, Irileth and I found ourselves in Winterhold, staying at the inn. We heard then that the College was having trouble with a group of necromancers, operating out of a small surface ruin to the southeast of the... well, to call it the 'city' is a stretch, given its current state, and what it was like when we visited.

"This trouble wasn't a simple disagreement, either. These necromancers were kidnapping apprentices of the College and using them as... test subjects for their spells, potions, poisons... you name it, it was being tested. It was horrific to imagine, and I suppose it still is. I've not thought about it for quite some time now. The College had attempted to stop these necromancers themselves, but had failed several times.

"It was Irileth who suggested we help the College, saying that 'it would do both of us much good to have the College of Winterhold owing the both of us a debt'." Balgruuf chuckled. "Funny, then, how right she was."

"So you two dove into the ruin and eliminated the necromancers?"

"Well..." The Jarl hesitated. "Yes... and no. We succeeded in freeing the apprentices, yes, and returning them safely to the College... the ones who lived, anyway... but we never did kill the necromancers' leader. He was... he became too strong for us." Balgruuf's eyes opened, and looked rather troubled. "Are you familiar with what a lich is, Proventus?"

"Isn't a lich the pinnacle of necromantic reanimation? An undead being with immense power?"

"Eh... close enough. A lich is an undead monstrosity with powerful magic, but from what I understand, a lich is not something that's simply reanimated. Most liches apparently become such directly from life; the one trying to become a lich is trying to escape the inevitability of death." The Jarl shivered a bit. "This lich Irileth and I faced... we were no real match for it. We had to flee and hide the fact that we left the lich be. She and I would probably have died if we tried to destroy it.

"The College was grateful for our aid in solving their problems for them, and offered us a reward. I was content with taking what was offered; Irileth, on our behalf, turned it all down, saying that we would likely have need of a favor from them later in time." He sighed softly. "It makes me wonder just how far ahead she was thinking. Did she suspect something like this would happen...?"

"And the lich, m'lord?" Proventus was in awe at the tale he'd heard, and looked just as concerned to hear about the lich.

"From what I understand, it never bothered the College again; otherwise, I think Irileth and I would have heard about it in some patronizing manner." He chuckled at the thought. "Part of me suspected the lich would hunt Irileth and I down for interfering, and we hardly slept in the weeks that followed. As we put distance between us and Winterhold, though... well, we eventually stopped worrying." His mood darkened. "If the lich still persists, though, I imagine it remains in Winterhold somewhere... and if it remembers Irileth and I, she may have cause to worry on her way to the College."

The two fell silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

"We should go with her, m'lord," Proventus finally said. "There's nothing we can do here but wait."

Balgruuf shook his head. "No. It's easier for one Dunmer to escape Whiterun than it is for the recognizable Jarl to do the same. She won't stand out nearly as much outside of Whiterun; I, on the other hand, am better known... and if anyone's foolish enough to sympathize with the Thalmor, I could very easily be reported to the damn elves."

"But-"

"Don't misunderstand me, Proventus; I want to be out of here, too." Balgruuf looked irritated at their situation. "Now is not the time, however. I risk far more trying to escape than Irileth does. If I'm killed outside of Whiterun, who will rule the city once it's liberated from the Thalmor?"

Proventus remained silent at these words, as he hadn't considered the repercussions of such. "Forgive me, m'lord," he finally said. "I just thought..."

"No harm done."

* * *

It didn't matter how much he tossed and turned. Jon couldn't sleep.

"Settle down," he heard Olfina murmur quietly next to him. "I'm just as concerned as you, my love."

"It's not your father or family who could very well be dead because of the so-called Regent," he spat. "You will _never _be as concerned as-"

She turned to face him, and he saw the look in her eyes. "You don't mean that," she said softly, "so I'm willing to forgive it. I know you're just frustrated, and don't have anyone to take it out on."

Jon stared at her, then shook his head. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "You're right, I'm..." He sighed heavily. "I should have been here to fight with them," he grumbled. "Or at the very least, to try and talk them out of it."

"You had no way of knowing this would happen," Olfina reassured him. "Neither of us did. And besides, if you'd been fighting alongside Idolaf..." She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. "I'd be missing you."

He returned the gesture, kissing her gently on the cheek. "I think I begrudged Eorlund when he mentioned he refused to take part in the fight, but in the end, I know he had the right of it," he murmured softly. "I know Idolaf meant well, but if the Regent was so easy to defeat that a half-assed plan such as that would succeed, we wouldn't have needed to plan things as secretly as we have been for the past couple months."

"Eorlund is wiser than your family likely ever gave him credit," Olfina said with a smile.

"So I'm realizing." Jon closed his eyes. "I refuse to believe they're dead, but 'prisoners of the Thalmor' isn't exactly comforting in comparison. When I think of how much more likely that is, I almost want to believe Idolaf and the others are dead." He gave a bitter chuckle. "Neither is desirable, yet I wish one or the other on them."

She squeezed him gently in her arms. "Don't dwell on it, love. Rest. It will take some time and effort yet, but if they are still alive, we can save them... assuming we take careful steps."

He held her tighter in turn, then kissed her on the lips. "Sorry, and thank you. Talking to you about it seems to have helped quiet my mind a little." He sighed lightly. "I doubt I'll know true ease again until the so-called Regent has been replaced, though."

* * *

It had been ages since Irileth watched the sun rise out in the wilderness.

She had managed to put several hours between herself and Whiterun; even if the Regent did rouse the guard to arrest Irileth, she still had a decent lead on them.

The Dunmer's makeshift camp wasn't much: it only consisted of a firepit that she could take care of within minutes. Assuming the Thalmor found the location, she doubted they'd link it to her. Throughout the night, Irileth had also put together a cooking spit to cook a couple of fish she'd caught from the nearby river; she had since destroyed the spit and used it as fuel to keep the fire burning through the night.

She had slept but a couple hours through the night, her subconscious realizing that everything could end if she were too careless. She knew she couldn't rest easy until she reached the College. Now that the sun had risen, she had to keep moving, or the Thalmor would inevitably find her.

She stood slowly and stretched out, then traveled to the nearby river. She had spent much of the night pondering how best to carry water from the river to her tiny camp; after all, if she was going to eliminate the small firepit, she had to douse the smoldering embers.

The answer had come in the form of a mudcrab's hard carapace. One of the critters had wandered too close to her camp in the middle of the night, and apparently assumed the weaponless, robed Dunmer was an easy target.

Two Lightning Bolts later proved such was not the case. She had spent the rest of that night hollowing out the mudcrab's tall carapace, making it suitable for use. She allowed herself a moment to cup water in her hands and splash it in her face. The cold water served to jolt her firmly awake, and rid herself of the desire to sleep for a while yet. She wiped some of it away from her face, then picked up the hollowed carapace and filled it with water.

As she returned to her camp, she found herself thinking about the safest route to the College. She had no weapon and no armor; she was no slouch with the Lightning Bolt spell, but she was not particularly inclined in magic beyond that, and knew she would be an easy target once her magicka reserves ran out. _That makes killing a stray bandit risky, even if it's the best means of obtaining a weapon and armor. They almost always travel in groups, too._

She had hoped against all hope that when she left Whiterun, the Khajiit caravan would be located outside the walls, and that she could wake and obtain supplies from the caravan leader. Such was not the case, however, and she considered herself unfortunate for that.

She dumped the water upon the firepit, watching as smoke rose from the hissing pit. She gave it a few moments before kicking at the firepit to disperse it, to keep it from somehow catching flame again. With the carapace empty, she began to scoop up the ashes from the fire and dump them into the carapace. Once it reached a point where she was getting miniscule amounts of ash, she decided it was good enough, and simply kicked the rest about on the ground.

As she set about her task of covering her presence in this spot, she thought about how she'd done this several times in the past with Balgruuf. It also made her realize just how much she missed him.

_I'm foolish_, she thought to herself. _The way I'm thinking, others may see fit to suggest I've fallen for him. They'd never understand the bond we share, though; he and I have been through much together._

Soon, she was finished dispersing what remained of her small campsite; she gave the site a closer, scrutinizing look, then nodded to herself. _This is as good as it's going to look_, she thought. _Best I get a move on; the sooner I reach Winterhold, the better. I suppose I'll stick to the road, and hope for the best._

* * *

_My friend,_

_I am pleased to hear you've accepted my offer. I am more than willing to craft you and your lovely new wife the rings you requested. I am even willing to forgo charging you a monetary price... as long as you can do me a favor instead._

_There are tales of an unusual gem within Dragonsreach. Normally, I would obtain this gem myself, but circumstances mandate my presence elsewhere. I will not lie, obtaining it is likely to be difficult, perhaps even impossible; you could face trouble with the Regent of Whiterun or her guards for trying to take it._

_I assure you, however, that if you can obtain this gem for me, I will be more than happy to craft the rings for you at no monetary cost. In addition, I would be more than willing to provide other services to you in the future, should you choose this route... and trust me, my friend, when I say that I am a very well-connected individual._

_If the risk of obtaining the gem is something you cannot stomach, then I will likely be disappointed, but I will still craft the rings for you, and at a cost of five hundred gold pieces each. The price is non-negotiable, and in addition, I cannot promise you any future services or aid from me._

_I look forward to speaking with you in person once again. Do give your lovely wife my regards._

_-E_

* * *

**_A.N._**_ - Two chapters in one day? Madness must have claimed me. I can guarantee there will be no 'three in one' deal, however, and I can't promise this 'two for one' thing will happen again._

_I tweaked this chapter a bit to make sure it was to my satisfaction. Of course, my satisfaction does not equate the satisfaction of the actual reader, so I'll see what everyone else thinks, and hope for the best._

_Yeah, still not much else to say. Just one of those days/nights for me, I suppose._

_-Spiritslayer_


	6. Shifting Winds

_Arch-Mage,_

_I am through waiting for your 'visit'. In one week's time, I will be traveling to Winterhold if that is what it takes to speak with you about the matter of your former allegiance with the Thalmor._

_Note that this makes everyone unhappy. My general suddenly finds himself waiting for me to return, I find myself inconvenienced by the need to travel, and you find yourself on the receiving end of much frustration as a result._

_I will accept no excuses_

His hand stopped as he heard someone knock on the door. "I'm busy with something," he snapped impatiently. "Who is it, and what do you want?"

"M'lord," he heard Jorleif's voice begin. "You have a visitor."

"I'm sure they can wait for me in the great hall, as every other visitor-"

"I'm sure 'every other visitor' hasn't been... _ordered_ to visit you by means of letter," he heard the voice of a female elf say, sounding rather amused. "Still, if my Jarl wishes me to wait in the great hall, I shall."

Ulfric Stormcloak lowered the quill and set it upon the nearly-complete letter. "You would be the Arch-Mage I've been waiting for," he said softly, turning his head to the now-opening door.

"I am," Runael replied, arms crossed and a playful smile at her lips. "Arch-Mage Runael, as you request- ah, that's right too, you didn't _request_ my presence so much as _demand_ it."

His eyes narrowed at the Altmer standing before him. "You amuse no one but yourself, elf," he snarled. "You are easily two weeks later than expected."

"I had College business to attend to," she said simply. "Just as I'm certain you would have delayed a visit to another if something came up with the Stormcloaks."

"Your little College and my Stormcloaks do not even _begin_ to resemble one another," he snapped, "so don't you dare make the comparison."

She held up her hands, as if to quell his anger. "As you say." She glanced at the now-departing steward, then back at Ulfric. "So, shall I await you in the great hall, or do you find the current location more to your liking?"

"Return to the great hall, and wait for me there. There is nothing we will discuss that requires such privacy that others may start ill rumors." With that, he slammed the door shut in her face.

* * *

The Regent of Whiterun was in a remarkably good mood, and she could think of no one explanation.

Maybe it had been the Housecarl's escape, and how she had not sent a single Thalmor guard to pursue her - but rather, a single Nord she knew the Dunmer wouldn't suspect. She knew it just added to the Dunmer's paranoia, to suspect she was being followed by Thalmor that weren't truly following her.

Maybe it had been the fact that she'd heard word from her husband for the first time in what felt like months, word that said he had been freed from his imprisonment, and that he was making plans to visit Skyrim, to visit Whiterun... to visit her.

Whatever the cause, she knew she was in a fine mood, and much preferred it that way. Thus, she had no cause to snap irritatedly at whomever was knocking at her door. "What is it?" she snapped, with nary a hint of irritation in her voice. _There's no reason I can't still snap at people, good mood or not_, she mused.

"You have a guest in the hall. He bears a notice from the First Ambassador."

Just like that, her good mood was ruined, and she scowled. "I'll be there shortly." _Though I'd rather not listen to anything she has to say._ She set the book she'd been reading down upon the nightstand, then threw the door open, didn't care if it closed properly or not, and made her way to the main hall of Dragonsreach.

"If Elenwen is sending notice that I'm to lose another of my guards for some personal errand, she is testing my patience and abusing her authority," she began, quite loudly, as she descended the stairs. "If she sends orders, kindly deposit them upon the end of the table nearest you and be on your way. If her correspondence is anything else, do yourself, the First Ambassador, and _myself_ a favor, and toss whatever note you bear upon the fire between the tables."

"You sound to be in a fine mood, Lady Regent," she heard a smooth voice all but purr. It was... oddly calming, and she felt her frustrations at being contacted by Elenwen melt away somewhat.

"I was," she replied flatly, looking at the speaker. _A Khajiit bears a notice from the insufferable brat?_ she thought, her curiosity clear upon her face. "Who are you, and what notice do you have from Elenwen?"

"To many, I am known simply as 'E'," the Khajiit began. "You shall be among that number for a time, Lady Regent, but perhaps we can come to something less... impersonal, given time."

_E... that Khajiit Runael when I last saw her._ The Regent made a mental note of the moniker, but registered no recognition of it. "We'll see. And this notice of yours?"

He approached the throne, which she had since taken a seat upon, and extended a small, folded paper with a scarlet seal upon it toward her. "You would not believe me if I read it aloud," was all he offered in way of explanation.

Her eyes narrowed, but she took the notice, broke the seal upon it, and unfolded it.

_Regent,_

_The Khajiit known as E, who stands before you, is hereby entitled to the Ebony Blade you have hidden away, by my orders. As you seem to have no use for it - for this is indeed the first I've heard of you possessing such a blade - you should have no qualms giving it to him._

_-First Ambassador Elenwen_

She stared at the contents of the notice. "She's wrong," she said stiffly.

"I'm sorry?" E asked, a look of curiosity coming over his own features.

"She presumes I have no qualms giving you the Ebony Blade. She's wrong." She lowered the notice. "Why do you need it, Khajiit?"

"One could ask the same of you, but you've asked the question first; thus, I shall answer." He cleared his throat. "A collector desires the Blade. I promised him I could obtain it. It is as simple as that."

"She orders me to give away a Daedric artifact for a _business proposition_?" the Regent said, looking as if Elenwen had lost her mind. "No, you will not be coming into possession of the Blade, Khajiit."

"That notice says otherwise."

She crumpled the notice in her hands, then tossed it over his head and watched it land in the fire. "I no longer see a notice entitling you to the Ebony Blade," she said coolly, "only a piece of paper starting to burn."

He watched it sail into the fire, then turned to face the Regent with a look of contempt. "You would do well to give me the Ebony Blade, as you were _ordered_ to do," he said calmly. "I'm certain your husband would appreciate the prolonging of-"

She could no longer hide it, and she burst into laughter, bringing an expression of confusion once more to E's face. "She has used that against me for so long," she gasped out between laughs. "But she no longer can."

"Excuse me?"

"He was freed," she said, calming down, smiling at the Khajiit. "She is no longer able to use that as leverage against me."

"Who? Oh, Elenwen." He chuckled softly. "I'm sorry, I thought you were referring to my man- well, woman, who has been keeping an eye on him ever since his imprisonment."

The Regent's expression hardened. "I beg your pardon? Do you mean to say you've been watching my husband?"

"I do. I do also mean to suggest that your love for him is greater than any manner of defiance to those who would do him harm." He smiled. "He is your biggest weakness, Lady Regent."

Her expression darkened at the very subtle threat. "You wouldn't dare," she snarled. "You do not have the authority to execute-"

"No, but the funny thing about a convicted man- pardon, mer going free... not everyone will accept that freedom, especially not those who advocated his execution in the first place." He winked at the Regent. "It would be so _tragic_ if he were to, say... die because his first hearty meal was poisoned, or if he were set upon by dissenters."

She felt her eye twitch. "You touch him, Khajiit, and I swear to all that is divine, I will have your head over my hearth back in Alinor," she growled.

"Odd of you to swear upon divinity, given your current state," he commented.

_That_ got her attention. "I'm afraid I don't-"

"You think me oblivious, Regent? I recognize the signs." He gestured to her glowing eyes. "The most telling sign of what you've become rests within your mouth - which I got a good look at while you were laughing so heartily." He stepped a little closer. "How do you think the people of Whiterun - your own guards, in fact - would react to learn the Regent ruling over them is a vampire?"

Her eyes flashed dangerously. "You wouldn't dare."

"I don't need to, provided you give me what I need. Keep it from me, however... well, your husband may not be quite as accepting to learn what's become of his beloved."

She shot the Khajiit the fiercest glare she could. _This bastard..._

"How long have you been a vampire?" he asked. "Was it after you departed the Embassy, and before you arrived in Whiterun?"

"I- how could you have possibly known when I contracted-" Her mouth closed then, and she stared at him intently. "...I give you the Ebony Blade... and you keep this quiet? You leave my husband be?"

"I do, on both accounts. I am nothing if not true to my word."

She rose from the throne. "Follow me, then. I'll lead you to it."

* * *

_It's a far cry from what I'm accustomed to_ _from the College_, Irileth thought bitterly.

She'd reached Winterhold about a day earlier than she'd anticipated, and was perfectly alright with this. She had approached the College and asked to speak with the Arch-Mage, but had been turned away by the high elf standing out front. When Irileth introduced herself, hoping the name would spark recognition, she was frustrated to find it accomplished no such thing. When she demanded entry, the high elf threatened her.

When it came to blows, as Irileth had grown agitated and desperate, the high elf had triumphed against Irileth and dragged her into the College, tossing her into a small, dark cell beneath the College - in a place she recognized as the Midden.

_Not the best way to ingratiate myself to the College in Whiterun's time of need, but at least I'm in._ Irileth leaned against the cold stone wall and heaved a sigh. _It's better than where the Jarl of Winterhold sends criminals, at any rate, and that's if the stories are true._

"...leth..."

She blinked at the sudden sound. It was faint, and had an echo to it, but she knew she'd heard a voice. She stood up straight and moved toward the cell door. "Who's there?" she called.

Silence was the only response she received. Although she knew the cell door was locked, her hand still went to the handle and tried to open it. Her expression was one of surprise and confusion as the handle moved easily and the door opened. _Since when has my door been...?_

"...leth..." The voice again called out, faint once again. She knew she hadn't been hearing things, then, and began to seek out the source.

* * *

The Arch-Mage of Winterhold drummed her fingers upon the table as she waited for Ulfric Stormcloak to emerge from his quarters and arrive in the great hall. "The irony of the moment is not lost on me," she mused to herself.

"What do you mean?" she heard Jorleif reply.

"I find myself waiting and my patience wearing thin... just as he found himself waiting for my visit." She chuckled softly. "If his tone was any indicator, he was quite impatient himself."

"The Jarl is many things, Arch-Mage, but 'one who administers petty revenge' is not one of them. If he's going to get revenge, or make things even, he does so with a more... dramatic flair."

"You oversell me, Jorleif," she heard Ulfric's voice call from the war-room. "I will not claim I am above petty revenge, but neither do I exercise it every chance I get. No, if I am going to be petty, it's going to be towards someone who deserves it." He strode into view, eyes affixed upon Runael - as if he were referring to her with his comment.

"I apologize for the delay, my Jarl," Runael began.

"Save your breath, elf." Ulfric sat upon his throne and looked down at her through narrowed eyes. "I have little patience left with you, so you will speak only when spoken to, and you will answer my questions - nothing more. Understood?"

"Understood." Were it anyone else, Runael would have simply laughed at those words, but she knew this was Ulfric Stormcloak, the man who killed the former High King and started his own rebellion against the Empire. _He is not a man to be trifled with, especially not within his own palace._

"How long were you with the Thalmor?" was his first question.

"While I fail to see how this is relevant to anything," she began, "I see no harm in telling you I'd been with the Thalmor for forty-nine years. I had no involvement with the Great War," she added, noting the look upon his face and the question seemingly forming at his lips, "as I had duties keeping me occupied elsewhere at the time."

"When did you join the College of Winterhold?"

"Six months ago. A lot can happen in that time."

"So I've heard." Ulfric stared at her intently. "What exactly was the chaos a few months ago?"

"Some unpleasantness involving an object of great power and somebody choosing to abuse it for his own purposes," Runael replied. "He is dead now, however, and the object in question has been... nullified."

"Care to emphasize? I have not been waiting for two weeks to receive short answers, elf."

Runael held up both hands, as if to try and calm him. "Fair enough. Well then, the best place to start is from the beginning. Six months ago, I received a letter from the First Ambassador telling me to head to the College..."

* * *

"You seek answers, but shall find nothing but questions," a voice sounded from the other side of the door. "Turn back."

_This is definitely the voice I heard,_ Irileth thought, hand resting upon the wooden door between them. Her hand moved to try and force the door open, but it remained locked.

"Still you persist? Very well, you may enter." The door unlocked and swung open. "Just do not be disappointed if what you seek is not what you think."

She wasn't disappointed so much as surprised at what greeted her. There was no one in the room she was now entering, only a pit with a bluish glow radiating from it. "Where are you?" she asked sharply.

"A question with deeper meaning than you realize," the voice came again, from the pit before her. The door swung shut, and she heard it lock behind her. "One could argue I exist within Tamriel; another could say I exist in another plane of existence. Yet another could, and probably would, state that I persist here from the realm of the dead." The voice gave a small, amused chuckle at the confused look on the Dunmer's face. "For all intents and purposes, however, I am within the pit before you."

"Who are you?" she asked, eyes upon the glow above the pit.

"Another deep question with multiple answers, but to you, and those with the College, I am known as the Augur of Dunlain."

"The Augur... I've heard of you." Irileth stared at the pit with an expression of awe. "Yours is a most... curious past."

"As is yours, Irileth, Housecarl of Whiterun." The Augur surprised Irileth by knowing who she was, but she didn't register the surprise. "The past is the past, however; the future holds greater potential for curiosity than that which has been set in stone."

She didn't answer, for she had no idea why she had been called by the Augur. Even so... "You called me here, but then tried to turn me away," she said flatly.

"A test. I needed to see if your curiosity was genuine enough. I am pleased to see it was." She could almost imagine the Augur crossing his arms and leaning back in a chair, a smug smile upon his face.

"Why did you call for me, then?"

"Because you came from Whiterun for help, not realizing the dangers involved with doing so. I am not faulting you - the College can and likely will help you - but rather, warning you of the dangers yet to come as a result."

"The Thalmor-"

"Are not your immediate problem. Within Whiterun, there is one who calls herself 'Thalmor', yet swears allegiance to another. Indeed, the Dominion of Skyrim are victims of internal dispute."

This caught Irileth's attention. "But... we've seen no traces of-"

"Were you them, would you want the rest of Tamriel to learn the truth?" The Augur's voice was amused now. "Given enough time, the internal dispute will gnaw at them from within, as such situations typically do for others."

"...You mentioned 'one who calls herself 'Thalmor', yet swears allegiance to another'. Are you referring to the Regent?" Irileth asked.

"Make of it what you wish, Housecarl. I make no claims of certainty, only giving you what I know to be true."

"Wouldn't you need to be certain of something to know it's true?" she asked, irritated.

"One may know the truth of something and still be uncertain. It comes with doubts and second-guessing. No one is perfect, and those who try to make themselves such only dive deeper into imperfection."

Irileth frowned at these words, not because she was dissatisfied with them, but because she knew they seemed like an attempt to cover one's tracks. "Let's... go back. Assuming the Regent is the one you were referring to, then to whom does she swear allegiance?"

"To one darker than night, colder than the grave and more sinister than all the evil in Nirn," the Augur replied. "Once, he was a man, but then he met adventurers two. He was thwarted, but not destroyed. For years, he has waited; for decades, he has plotted. In this era of strife, between dragons, civil war and petty conflicts, what is but one more danger brewing beneath the surface?"

She rubbed her temples. _His vagueness makes my head hurt_. "What were these dangers you referred to? The dangers involved with my coming to Winterhold, and the dangers to come as a result?" When the Augur didn't reply, Irileth narrowed her eyes at the pit. "Are you still there?"

"You have been warned of what lurks," the Augur replied. "And what will soon come to surface. You came to the College for help, and will receive it. There is one other who may prove invaluable in your endeavors, even despite her allegiance to the Dominion."

"Not interested," Irileth said flatly.

"Should your mind change, you need look only where the hills whisper, and step inside their mouth."

* * *

Runael watched Ulfric for a few moments, having finished relaying the story of what had transpired within the College to him. "The Thalmor wanted me - or rather, Ancano - to hand the College to them once there was a Thalmor Arch-Mage leading it. I have no intention of doing so, and it's that which led to my defection from the Thalmor."

"So only a few know about your defection," Ulfric murmured.

"Yes." A thought suddenly struck Runael. "My Jarl, how was it you came to learn of my defection?"

"Some cat came by and told me about it," he said dismissively. "Acted as if he knew you personally."

_E_. Runael had had her suspicions. "Seems as if he's been in touch with everyone but me as of late," she mused.

"What will you do with the College now?" Ulfric asked, as if he hadn't heard her.

"Lead it, of course. I have no special plans for it myself, and see no reason to restrict activities within." She regarded Ulfric for a few moments. "Perhaps I would even be willing to lend the might of the College to the war-"

"Save it," he interrupted. "Magic is wielded by three types of individuals: cowards, untrustworthy people, and elves. There is no need for it in the Stormcloaks. We Nords pride ourselves-"

She only held up a hand, his slight against her and magic on the whole largely overlooked. "I understand."

He looked irked at being interrupted, but nodded nonetheless. "So, if you were with the Thalmor for forty-nine years, you must know many things about them only a few others would know."

She narrowed her eyes at his comment. "I'm... afraid I don't follow."

"Secrets of the Thalmor. You must know some by now, correct? Secrets so important, it could hurt the Thalmor?"

She rose abruptly. "I can't say I approve of the direction this conversation is taking, Jarl Ulfric," she said tersely. "I have told you about my defection and the reasons for such. If you'll excuse me, I must return to Winterhold."

"You have made me wait for two weeks, elf," Ulfric said, rising slowly and crossing his arms across his chest.

"And I have told you all of what you asked of me through the letter." She bowed lightly. "If you'll excuse me."

"You're not going anywhere," he replied, snapping his fingers. His eyes remained focused on Runael as she slowly backed away from him, and a smile crossed his lips as she backed into the crossed battleaxes of the two guardsmen at the entrance to the palace.

She glanced behind herself at the two guards, then glared at Ulfric. "You would dare the wrath of an Arch-Mage?" she growled.

"The 'wrath of an Arch-Mage' pales in comparison to the fury of a Jarl," Ulfric replied smoothly. "You so much as attack me, and my Stormcloaks will scour Skyrim for you. I would prefer if they brought you back alive, but if they deem your death necessary, I won't hold it against them."

For once, it was her turn to smile, and the smile made him uneasy. "Who said anything about attacking you?" she replied, a triumphant tone in her voice. Magic swirled about her hands.

It took Ulfric a few moments to realize the implications of her actions and words, but when he did, his eyes widened. "Guards, seize-"

He was too late: Runael released the spell in her left hand, and her every movement was suddenly very silent; she released the spell in her right, and vanished from view. The second she turned invisible, she sprinted toward the door, counting on the Muffle spell to keep her dash for the door silent.

"Surely she's still there! Grab her!" Ulfric shouted, sounding quite furious that the Arch-Mage had given him the slip.

"Not quite," she replied with a chuckle, causing all heads to turn to the palace door - which she had open now. "Do not count on my visit again, Ulfric Stormcloak; you have left a worse impression on me than the reports at the Embassy ever could have." With that, she slipped out of the palace, closed the door behind her, and vanished from view with the aid of the Invisibility spell once more. She slipped away into the streets of Windhelm, holding back the laughter that bubbled within her as she heard the fabled Voice of Ulfric Stormcloak echo from within the palace.

* * *

_**A.N.** - First of all, I have a couple apologies to make._

_I'm sorry this chapter took me a month to write. I'd suffered a bout with writer's block for a little bit, and to try and remedy the situation, I began playing Skyrim again... which did nothing to make this story easier, as the character I chose to play was not Runael, but rather... well, I'll get into that a bit later. I'm also sorry this chapter is shorter than the previous five, and didn't end with the usual 'departing letter' format I've stuck to. This time, I felt like 'Runael escapes Windhelm' should be the end point. I'd also toyed heavily with the notion of a more cordial relationship between Ulfric and Runael, so there was that; I'd also contemplated a less-than-optimal outcome for Runael, but decided it would only drag things on longer than I'd like._

_So, Skyrim. I've been trying out mods lately from NexusMods. A few have been hit-and-miss for me, some have been truly memorable, some... I haven't finished just yet. Easily the biggest mod I've taken a huge shine to is Frostfall, which adds a 'character temperature' element to the game; for those unfamiliar, it means your character can freeze to death (on the right settings). Swimming in the water suddenly becomes a HUGE deal and something you, ideally, want to avoid - because it makes you much colder MUCH faster. Been playing Skyrim with Frostfall on Hardcore, meaning I can't fast-travel... which means I get to have all sorts of fun wandering the southern reaches of Skyrim on my Ashen survivalist._

_Yes, I said Ashen. I also downloaded the Ashen mod, which adds a new race to the game. Again, for those unfamiliar, Ashen (according to the mod - I could find no actual lore on the Ashen anywhere) are... I call them 'refugees' from Akavir, fleeing a life of enslavement in exchange for the life of a mercenary, a wanderer, an adventurer, etc. My Ashen is a 'survivalist' - I rarely visit cities (typically only doing so to sell the vast amounts of loot I gather on my forays), and that's also owing in part to the fact that I can't fast-travel. The merchants in Riften have no gold to buy my brewed potions/poisons with? I have to head to Whiterun or Windhelm on foot, taking care not to freeze. (Also, I have a fun Alchemy tip: mix Deathbell and River Betty together. The resulting poison is just cruel. ;) ) I do own Breezehome on Mia (my Ashen), and when I'm in town, and can't sell stuff, I tend to just stick my spare stuff in chests around the house. The drawback to Frostfall is that I can't explore the northern regions as much as I'd like to. I've been to Solitude, and from the gates of the city (completely warm, the warmest you can be) to the Solitude Lighthouse, I hit 'freezing to death' (I think that's the lowest you can get it, but can't remember; I have killed a character once via the freezing aspect). This was without getting soaked, and this was with a cloak (which helps keep you warm to some extent). I felt like an ass, using the fire at the Lighthouse to warm up... then extinguishing it for Jaree. Of course, then he wanted me to head to the Icerunner. It's a long walk, and no way in hell am I swimming across the way, like I would typically do. (Had a similar situation in Windhelm, except I got cold much faster.) I'm not even going to TRY a trip to Winterhold, which, for me, is always snowing. ALWAYS. I have never seen Winterhold when it's not snowing. I imagine it looks nice. I wouldn't know. I doubt I'll EVER know._

_Of course, Mia hasn't been to Whiterun lately... or Riften. Or Falkreath. She's been through the ancient gate that leads to Falskaar, and has been there since. The temperatures there are bearable; the coldest Mia's gotten so far is 'freezing' (which is bad, but not immensely so). I would rather not discuss Falskaar too much, as I'd hate to ruin any surprises for anyone who hasn't tried it yet... but to put it simply, Falskaar is another land you can visit. It has Tamrielic lore, so far as I can tell - Nords settled the land many years ago, from what I've gathered. Want to get back to Skyrim? It's a little bit of a journey (even longer if you can't fast-travel), but there are docks at the southern coast of Falskaar that lead you back to Skyrim itself. I haven't left yet; there's too much I want to explore with Falskaar first. (I'd imagine the return point, from Skyrim to Falskaar, is through the gate you came from, but can't say for sure.) Thus far, the primary enemy has been bandits - and these buggers mean business. Mia's a survivalist clad in leather armor (for RP-esque purposes) who uses stealth, bow-and-arrow to get the jump on enemies, and then light shields and one-handed weapons (whatever's strongest) to fight. In one-on-one or one-vs.-two situations, that's not so bad... but these bandits travel in packs of anywhere from 4-6, maybe even 7 at times. You get one or two shooting at you, one throwing spells at you, and the rest trying to bludgeon/slash you to death? I'm just glad I have a healthy pursuit of Alchemy, and create potions whenever I get the chance. (Frostfall provides you with a mortar and pestle you can use out in the wilderness, but you need to buy it from an apothecary in a city first.) They don't drop like flies, either; even with a 3x sneak attack from a Dwarven Bow, I don't do as much damage as I'd like with my opening shot. Lately, though, I've been favoring melee sneak attacks if I can manage them - these are usually fatal, for obvious damage multiplier reasons. I love the storyline so far, and am rather disappointed with one of the developments (not because it had so much more potential, but because... well, I think I'd be spoiling if I tried to explain. It was well-executed, but that doesn't mean I'm glad it happens.)_

_So, mod-rant aside..._

_I do hope my updates become more frequent now that I've got this chapter out. My bout with writer's block seems to have lifted, at any rate, and ideas are once again flowing to me - albeit in trickles, but still, it's better than damming._

_-Spiritslayer_


	7. Fuel for the Fire

_Saarie,_

_The moment we make landfall in Solitude, I will lead the rest of our squad to the Embassy. You, on the other hand, have another task to deal with before you depart for the Embassy._

_You know what must be done. See that it is done._

_Vindicator Thellias_

* * *

"...So let me get this straight..." Runael said, rubbing her temples gently. "You... want me... _me_, whom the Regent recognizes... _me_, who defected from the Thalmor... to help _you_ rid Whiterun of the Thalmor?"

Irileth was barely paying any attention anymore. She'd thought hope had yet come to Whiterun when she'd heard that the Arch-Mage had returned to Winterhold after an 'ill-fated meeting in Windhelm', but felt her hope waver when she saw the Arch-Mage was an Altmer. Her hopes dropped even further once she'd learned that said Arch-Mage was formerly with the Thalmor herself. Nonetheless, she'd taken the opportunity to speak with the Arch-Mage in the Arcanaeum, hoping to make her case convincingly.

"Understand, Housecarl, that ours is a _neutral_ organization at this point in time," Runael was saying. "That I am even meeting with _you_, who threatened Faralda and even attacked her, should be considered fortunate for you. By all rights, I ought to have thrown you out, but I figured you had a good reason for-"

"Liberating Whiterun from your kind isn't 'good reason' enough?" Irileth interrupted.

"'_My kind_' are overreaching their bounds, " Runael responded, "and do not represent the entirety of the race. You are already on thin ice with the College, Dunmer; do not test your luck any further." She crossed her arms. "Still... the stories I've heard about Whiterun as of late... I will agree with you, in that the Thalmor are running the city into the ground..."

"Yet you won't help."

"We're still recovering from recent events," Runael replied simply.

"It takes you months to do that? You're one College, one building, and one team of wizards," Irileth said incredulously. "Surely it doesn't take so long that-"

Runael affixed the dark elf with a hard look. "And here I thought you'd understand, given your position of 'Housecarl' to a Jarl," she said with a sigh. "I'm not talking about the physical aspects of recovery. Our reputation was already tainted before the incident with the Eye; even though I resolved that particular issue, our reputation may yet worsen. Even now, my master wizard, Tolfdir, tells me there are... anomalies throughout Skyrim that appear once in a while. None of us here know just yet what the long-term repercussions of the incident with the Eye may yet be; until we do know, we don't dare take any undue risks."

"But-"

"That, unfortunately, includes trying to purge the Thalmor from Skyrim as a whole," Runael said, giving a light nod. "Do not mistake my dismissal of Whiterun's problems as disinterest, Housecarl; we simply cannot help at this moment. I don't know that we'll _ever_ be able to help in the coming months, maybe even years."

While the answer did give Irileth some general peace of mind, it still wasn't what she wanted. "Are you... absolutely _sure_ you cannot offer any aid?"

The Arch-Mage heaved a sigh and closed her eyes. "The more you insist, Irileth, the more you come across as 'no options left'. Whiterun surely has allies beyond its own boundaries and the promise of a favor to the Jarl and his Housecarl?" She opened one eye. "What of the Dragonborn? Hasn't he-"

"We've seen neither hide nor hair of him since he trapped that dragon in Dragonsreach," Irileth muttered. "Divines know his help would be welcome, though..."

Runael frowned, then opened her other eye. "Hmm..." She thrummed her fingers upon the table before her, eyes scanning the spines of the books locked away behind glass. "...I... can offer no one, Irileth, for we are still trying to recover... but..." Her fingers stilled. "...I may be able to offer... if you've a mind to learn, perhaps you can bring some of what you came for with you."

It took Irileth a moment to realize what Runael was suggesting. "Are you asking me to stay and study?"

"Where else do you have to go, Irileth? Right now, the College is the safest place for _you_ to be at this moment. Here, the Thalmor cannot reach you, for the College will keep them out. I can spare no one to help you, but I _can_ spare time to teach you. I'd say the rest of the staff could spare that time, as well." She smiled gently. "Besides, if you're going to be staying here, there's only so much you can do before you start to go out of your mind with boredom, correct?"

Irileth didn't like it. The suggestion meant she could easily be spending _months_ within the College, trying to learn magic that was probably beyond her to begin with. Those would be months she needed to spend trying to find ways to free Whiterun from the Thalmor presence infesting it.

"I'm not saying you'd have to commit to months and months of lessons," Runael added, as if reading the Dunmer's mind. "You'd be free to leave at any time - now included, in fact. Know, however, that as long as you choose to stay here, you'd have the protection of the College available to you. I cannot promise you that protection if you leave of your own accord."

"'Of my own accord'?" Irileth repeated.

Runael smiled. "You don't think our lessons are contained to the College, do you? Assuming you agree to join, there would be multiple opportunities for you - pardon, _us_ - to get out of the College and travel. Granted, that means the Thalmor would have an easier time getting to us... but, well, I doubt even _they_ would be stupid enough to attack a group of College magi without due provocation."

Irileth shook her head gently. "I... need to think about this. The offer is... not without its merits, I won't deny that, but I can't say I'd be willing to commit to study with the College when Whiterun needs help."

"I understand." The smile never left Runael's lips, but Irileth could almost swear it faltered ever so slightly. "Well, the Midden hardly seems a place for you to stay in the meantime. I'll inform Tolfdir you're to stay in my old quarters, before I moved into the Arch-Mage's quarters upstairs. You'll be sharing space with apprentices of the College, I'm afraid, so do be mindful of that."

"I..."

"Would you prefer that unwelcoming cell in the Midden?" Runael asked, peering at Irileth. "That's just about the only other place I'd dare to put you at this point in time."

"...No. The... former arrangement sounds... fine."

* * *

"Captain..." Saarie's voice was all but a purr, and was as music to the Redguard's ears. He turned his head to see the high elf standing in the doorway to his quarters, and couldn't fight back the small smile that came to his lips.

"Ah. Saarie, was it? I do want to apologize for my... behavior while we were at sea," he said, trying to sound sincere. If the tone was any indicator, however, he also suspected that maybe she'd warmed to the thought of time with him. _I'll be damned if I let such a beauty get away_.

"I appreciate the apology, Captain," she said softly, stepping closer, hands clasped behind her back. "It's... what, 'water under the bridge'? Hmm... perhaps 'water under the hull' would fit in this case?"

He laughed at the term. "'Water under the hull'... that's clever. I like it." He beckoned her inside. "Please, make yourself comfortable."

"I couldn't impose." She gave him a look of sorrow.

"You're not imposing if you're invited, you know."

"That's... true, I suppose." She stepped into his quarters, then closed and locked the door behind her. That made his curiosity pique; previously, she'd insisted the door remain wide open and unlocked at all times.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of such a beauty's visit?" he asked quietly. "Did you find my rugged charm and good looks-" His words failed him as her hands moved into view; in her right hand was an ebony dagger, the blade held firmly between her fingertips.

"Gods, but you _are_ insufferable," she growled. "Did you really think I'd fall for someone as _pathetic_ as _you_? A drunkard, a womanizer, a _human_, and one who worships Talos besides?"

His eyes widened as he slowly realized what was going on. He was unarmed, and his nearest weapon was a cutlass mounted upon the wall, above the head of his bed. "Come now, surely we can talk about this..." he began.

She stepped closer to him, away from the door. "There are no words for you, filth, only the silence that walks hand-in-hand with death."

Recognizing the threat for what it was, the Redguard turned his back on her and sprinted for the cutlass on the wall. His fingers wrapped around the hilt when he felt pain explode from the center of his back, originating from the spine. He fell, face-first, onto the bed, cutlass falling from his hand.

"I pierced your spine with the dagger. You'll suffer before you bleed to death." Her voice was nowhere near him, which made the Redguard realize she had likely thrown the blade - and with terrifying accuracy, at that. "I suggest you make the best of your last moments, and think about how foolish you - and all who follow Talos - truly are. A man cannot become a god; such is naught but vanity of a people."

His mouth moved, and sounds gurgled from his throat... but he could form no words. All failed him.

"Oblivion take you, lecher. Tamriel is better off without you." With those words, he heard his door open, then close. He heard the unmistakable sound of the lock clicking into place, and knew that none would find him in time to help him.

Contrary to what she said, he spent his last moments praying to the Divines... and, as if to spit upon those who killed him, he offered the most prayer to Talos, even to his dying breath.

* * *

The sound of knocking upon her solar door directed an otherwise irritable Elenwen's attention toward the source. "Who is it, and what do you want?" she snapped. "If you have correspondence from-"

She was quite appalled when she watched the door fly inward, smashing against the wall. She glared at the Altmer clad in ebony armor as he strode into the solar as if he were in charge of the place. "You are Elenwen," the mer said; it was not a question.

"I am. And who are _you_, to barge in on me so brazenly? You know my name; you know what my rank is, and what it means for-"

"Is this how you greet all visitors from Alinor?" the mer interrupted, a glare in his eyes. "Little wonder Skyrim is slipping from our grasp, then. You're correct, I'm aware you were First Ambassador of Skyrim for the Thalmor; that is the only reason I haven't yet struck you for disrespecting your superior."

Every word of what he said registered with Elenwen, and her face quickly drained of color; soon, her horrified expression was upon a face as pale as snow. "V-Vindicator Thellias..." she whispered. "I-I... we were not expecting you for two more-"

"I got an earlier start than expected," Thellias said, smirking. "I'll assume that this is the reason the Embassy does not, contrary to what was requested, look as though it was prepared for visitors from Alinor. Did you truly think you could put that off to the last minute?" He spat upon the floor. "Perhaps _that_ is one of many reasons you haven't yet made progress into the infiltration."

She was silent. She knew she'd already crossed many lines snapping at him as she had, and didn't dare cross any others. She did clear her throat, however, and force a smile. "I welcome you to-"

"Save it," Thellias snapped, slamming his ebony helm upon her clutter-free desk. "You already 'welcomed' me to Skyrim, and to the Embassy; suffice to say, I did not find it... amusing. Your guardsman within the gate did a far better job welcoming me than you did."

She had to fight the urge to cringe; she knew the comment was intended to make her do so, but she didn't want to give him the satisfaction. "I, ah..."

"Since you couldn't be bothered to prepare the Embassy for my visit," he interrupted, "_you_ will be staying in whatever guest quarters you have prepared; if you have none, then it seems you'll be staying with the rest of the guards. _I_, on the other hand, will be making full use of this room as my own personal quarters. If you have any protests, I suggest you make them now, that I may get disciplinary action out of the way sooner, rather than later."

Her mouth opened, but closed quickly. "N-no, sir."

"Excellent. Now..." He let his eyes wander her barren desk, and he snorted. "Are the problems you've been facing truly so unimportant to you that you can hide them away as if there's nothing wrong?" he snarled. "Or do you happen to have good news pertaining to the infiltration?"

"I-I..." She knew she was in too much trouble, and that if she said anything, she was just digging a deeper grave for herself.

"I thought not. Pitiful." He again spat on the floor, and she felt her eye twitch at the disrespectful act. "How you ever became First Ambassador is beyond me. Then again, I suppose giving head to-"

"How _dare_ you," she snapped, the suggestive insult pushing her too far. "Everything I've ever attained within the Dominion, I have _earned_ rightfully, not through lewd 'favors' or bribes! I don't care _who_ you think you are, _Vindicator_, but I will _not_ tolerate you slandering my name thus!"

His lips curled into a smirk, and only when she calmed down somewhat did she realize just what she'd said. "Are you suggesting you're equal to me, or even... superior to me? Are you suggesting that _I_ did not earn my rank of 'Vindicator', Elenwen? Speak plainly, now..."

"Not at all, sir," she said, collecting herself as best she could. "Simply that... that I did indeed earn the title of-"

"Perhaps you _had_ earned it," he interrupted, "but you are no longer worthy of retaining it. As of this moment, in fact, you are no longer the First Ambassador of Skyrim. You haven't been since I first heard your... 'warm' greeting, in fact."

The horror of realization dawned on her, and she knew that everything she was trying to keep quiet... "And... who _is_-"

"Sir!" A new voice preceded the arrival of another Altmer into the solar. She saluted Thellias, who returned the salute, then looked at Elenwen, smirked at her, then turned her attention back to Thellias. "In regards to the task you assigned me before we arrived in Solitude. It is done."

"Excellent work, Saarie. _That_ is how things get done in the Dominion: as soon as possible, in as efficient a manner as possible." He shot Elenwen a sharp look. "Unlike _some_ people, who think they can complete their tasks at their own leisure."

"Sir, with all due respect, there has been a frustrating lack of progress-"

"Then you're not trying hard enough!" he roared. The sudden outburst caused Elenwen to shrink back, even cower a little. "If you can't find information, then expand your gods-damned information network! Make those little parties you threw into opportunities: ask your guests to accomplish something for you, and grant them something in return! The one thing you do _not_ do, however, is take it slowly!"

She had no words in response to this.

"Saarie!"

"Yes sir?" The other mer stood at attention and saluted.

"At ease." Thellias' tone softened as he faced Saarie once again. "Since Elenwen here has proven far too incompetent to run an Embassy, let alone maintain our presence in Skyrim, the time has come for your final test." He gave her a small smile and a nod. "From this moment forth, and until I say otherwise, you are now First Ambassador of Skyrim. I will process the paperwork once this meeting is through, and will send it back to Alinor as soon as possible. The time has come, Saarie, for you to take charge. Show me that you can take command of _any_ situation, and when your task is through, that which you commanded is in a better state than when you assumed command. Though I will admit..." He shot a glare at Elenwen. "Given the state of our Embassy and our presence in Skyrim, I'd say this one's too easy."

"Not true, sir. Granted, this won't be _hard_, by any definition of the term," she added, giving Elenwen a condescending look, "but I'd say it will be challenging enough."

He nodded at Saarie. "You've made me proud so far, my dear," he said, smiling. "Pass this test, and I suspect you'll make one of the finest Vindicators to date." He cleared his throat. "Now, the problems plaguing the Embassy, and the Dominion of Skyrim in general, are in your hands. Unless I say otherwise, I am simply here to observe."

"Sir." She saluted, then looked at Elenwen. "Now... as for _you_... as much as I'd like to dismiss you from the Dominion altogether for your incompetence, I believe in second chances. Perhaps if you were to 'start anew', you would be reminded what it means to be part of the Aldmeri Dominion."

Elenwen stared at Saarie, and her hands balled slowly into fists. "Are you... _demoting_-"

"I believe Vindicator Thellias has already done so," Saarie replied coolly. "No, I'm simply informing you of your new rank." She pointed toward the door. "In fact, I'd say it's about time for your shift."

"_What_ are you-"

Saarie smiled wickedly at Elenwen. "Why, to stand guard, of course. That poor guardsman outside must be cold by now... I'd say it's time you took his place. Oh, and you'll be watching the gate alone - as you've assigned others to do for months now."

Elenwen could stand it no longer, but knew better than to lash out, either with words or worse. She simply offered the least passable salute she could to both of them, then left the solar without another word.

* * *

It didn't matter how she moved, or how hard she strained; Adalla could not seem to free her wrists from their bonds.

She had no idea where she was, only that it appeared as though she were in the ruins of a fort. She was in a prison cell, and had a view only of the stone wall ahead of her. She wasn't even sure why she was bound; she had tried the cell door with her back turned to it, but had been unable to budge the handle. She was clad in nothing but ragged robes and footwraps, the like of which prisoners usually wore.

She didn't know whether she preferred captivity over death or not. She had yet to see her captor - perhaps captors, for that matter. She'd heard no one else, seen not even a shadow... it was as if she'd been taken captive and forgotten. Were it not for those occasions when she woke to find a plate of food within her cell, her wrists unbound, she would have assumed she _had_ been forgotten.

Her stomach growled as she thought about food, and she groaned lightly. She knew it was wrong, but she longed for the food that was to come; it was never anything like stale bread and moldy cheese, but rather such things as cooked venison, vegetable soups, and refreshing water. She always knew it was drugged, though; every time prior she'd eaten the food, she'd been pulled into a deep slumber, only to awaken some time later with her wrists bound once again.

She strained against her bonds once more, and bit her lower lip to suppress the cry of pain that accompanied this one: the straining had rubbed her wrists raw in the past, but this time... she could almost swear she had broken her skin with the struggling.

Then, for the first time since she'd first awoken in the cell, she heard them: footsteps. They got louder as the one to whom they belonged seemed to approach. The scent of food preceded them, and made her stomach growl once more. She managed to ignore the pain at her wrists, her attention now focused on the possibility of learning the identity of one, if not the only, captor.

Perhaps they hadn't been expecting her to be awake, because when they stopped in front of her cell door, their face registered surprise. It was a woman with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, clad sleeveless leather armor, bracers and boots, and a white fur cloak about her shoulders. At her back was a quiver of arrows and a dwarven bow. At her right side was what appeared to be an ebony war axe, while at her left was a dwarven dagger. In her right hand was a plate bearing cooked beef, a rich tomato soup, and what appeared to be a flagon of mead. "Awake at last," the woman said. She set the plate down on the stone floor briefly. "Stay where y'are, eh? Don't want to hurt ya if I don't gotta." She fished a key out of a small satchel behind her dagger.

"Who-"

"The woman who saved yer life," the mysterious woman said simply. She regarded Adalla closely. "Yer're not gonna lunge at me if I open the door to pass yer meal through, are ya?"

She considered it, but she couldn't deny that she was hungry. "No."

The woman nodded, then unlocked the cell door and placed the plate of food inside, then closed and locked the door again. "Been hopin' I'd get a chance to talk to ya some. Guess m'first question is... what in Oblivion'd ya do t'get locked up by bandits?"

Adalla blinked, rising slowly and approaching the cell door. She turned around so her bound wrists were exposed. "Bandits?"

The mystery woman didn't say anything for a moment, and then... "Ah, right, must wanna be free so y'can eat." She felt the chill of what was undoubtedly the dagger press against her wrist, then felt the flat of the blade rub against her hand as the edge severed her bonds. "Figured I'd keep tyin' yer wrists 'till I could figure out whether or not ya were dangerous. Don't see no- gods damn, just how hard did ya struggle?" Adalla felt fingers poke at the fresh injuries she'd created at her wrists. "Damn, elf, even fools know when t'give it up..."

"Pardon me, but I wanted to get _free_," Adalla snapped, moving away from the woman's fingers and turning around. She sat upon the fur that had served as her blanket for a while now, and picked up the plate of food. "Can you really fault me that?"

"Guess not," the woman said with a sheepish grin. "Sorry. Can see now that y'aren't all that dangerous. Why them idiot bandits had ya bound up as they did, I don't know." She watched as Adalla began to devour her meal. "Thought ya'd like somethin' other than venison for a change, so... there's that."

Adalla swallowed what must have been her sixth or seventh mouthful of food before she asked the woman a few questions of her own. "Who are you? Where am I? What happened?"

"Well, as I said, I'm the one who saved yer life. As for the 'where'... think it's called 'Uttering Hills Cave', or some such. Was a bandit lair, least 'till I came upon it during that last bad storm... ah, but ya don't know 'bout that." She chuckled softly. "As to the 'what'... was hopin' y'could tell _me_ that. Two arrowheads broken off in yer shoulders, traces of paralytic poison on each, and a pretty bad bite wound to your arm 'sides? Someone had it in for ya, elf, and I'd say it's a miracle yer still alive. So, I'll ask again..." She leaned closer. "What in Oblivion happened to ya?"

* * *

"I'm afraid I can't take it," Ma'dran said, shaking his head.

En'zhar stared at his fellow Khajiit. "What? Why-"

"Recent events," the merchant said in response. "I can say nothing more, my friend."

En'zhar reached into the satchel at his waist and pulled out a pouch of moon sugar. "And now?"

To his surprise, Ma'dran shook his head. "It changes..." He hesitated, then beckoned En'zhar closer with one hand. When he spoke next, his voice was much lower. "My friend... I had to talk. I had no choice; the elf was insistent. His fellows had subdued the rest of the caravan, and my throat was graced with the unwelcome presence of a blade's tip."

"What elf? Who dared-" En'zhar stopped. "What did you speak of?"

"I told him... about our deal. The Blade, the buyer, and the reasons. And... and you. Not by name," he added, noting the anger that flashed across En'zhar's face, "but by that which you go by to everyone but the closest. E."

E frowned, and shook his head after a moment longer. "What did the elf say when you told him about...?"

"Nothing. I think... I think mentioning your alias was all he wanted. Still, I don't dare take the Blade. There's no telling what will happen to me - or to you - if I do."

En'zhar stared at the two-handed Daedric artifact for a moment. "Yet if I keep it, it marks me as E. Everyone will know who I am."

"The... thought crossed my mind. I think that's what the elf was aiming for." Ma'dran sighed gently. "Someone within the Thalmor wants you dead, E, and they want to know exactly who you are. If you pass the Blade along to another... that will be innocent blood on your hands, and on mine besides."

E furrowed his brow in thought. "...There are many things I will not do," he began. "Leaving another to die in my place is among them." He picked up the Daedric artifact. "I'm not much of a fighter with two-handed blades, but perhaps I'll learn. And if these elves who search for me manage to track me down, then perhaps they will learn what it means to cross me."

Ma'dran gave a nod. "I am sorry, my friend; I truly am. They mentioned reporting to the 'new First Ambassador', if that helps any."

This comment alone struck a greater blow to E's confidence than he let on outwardly. _If Elenwen is no longer leading the Embassy, I no longer have anyone within the Dominion... and thus, I no longer know their movements._ "I see. Thank you, my friend." He gave the Ebony Blade a small twirl in his hand. "I also apologize."

"Apologize? For what?"

In a flash, En'zhar buried the Ebony Blade's tip in the Khajiit merchant's chest. Ma'dran's eyes widened, and his hands reached up to claw at the Blade in vain. "I know the story behind the Blade," E murmured softly. "Slay those who trust you implicitly, and the Blade grows stronger... so, in essence..." He twisted the Blade in Ma'dran's chest. "Betraying your friends gives you strength." He narrowed his eyes at Ma'dran. "That aside, was I not a worthy patron that you would take a blade for me? Did you truly think I would tolerate being sold out - to the _Thalmor_, of all people, simply so you could live?" He cast a glance at the other three members of the caravan, all of whom were still somehow asleep. "I will offer my condolences to Ri'saad, for he has lost an entire caravan this night." With that, he pulled the Blade from Ma'dran's chest, and moved silently toward the other three Khajiit.

* * *

_Thellias,_

_I understand that you are here to observe, and that realistically, I have no authority over you... but I don't know who else I can trust within the Embassy with this information._

_I discovered several letters hidden away - by Elenwen, no doubt - within the solar. Each one was signed by a Khajiit who is wanted for theft, fraud and various other crimes back in Alinor. I know not who else within the Embassy knows about Elenwen's 'under-the-table' dealings with such an infamous criminal back home, and so I ask you instead, not as an order, but as a favor:_

_Find En'zhar, who apparently lives in Skyrim, and hunt him down like the animal he is._

_-First Ambassador Saarie_

_Vindicator-in-training_

* * *

_**A.N. - **I think I had just a little too much fun writing this chapter, especially the interaction between Thellias, Elenwen and Saarie; does it make me a bad person if I enjoy someone else's misfortune that much?_

_Since I want to keep this Author's Note nice and short, I'm only going to say that lately, I've been playing Final Fantasy XIV: A Realm Reborn. I bought the original version a couple years back, and tried to play it; it didn't cooperate with my pathetic computer back then (an Acer laptop). Well, my new computer can handle ARR, and it's fun. I'm playing a Pugilist, and having a blast with it. Reached level 25 last night, so I'm halfway to level cap. I'm not sure what I want to do with WoW anymore. I'm stuck waiting until Warlords of Draenor for anything new there, and... it doesn't really call to me. 'Time travel to what Outland used to look like and fight the Horde's notable figures'? Yeah, no thanks. I'll see if there's anything else to pull me in, but... at present, not so much. FFXIV, in the meantime, is amazing, and I don't see myself getting bored with it anytime soon. If I can figure up the past and put together a halfway decent RP profile for my character, I may even dip into that as well. (If anyone else plays, don't be afraid to contact me in-game! My character is Adelena Hayle, on Balmung. Just let me know you came from so I'm not confused. ^^)_

_...Well, the Author's Note was short-ish, I guess. I'll end it here before I blab too much, like I did with the last one. ^^;_

_-Spiritslayer_


End file.
